


10-97

by Samur_Umlal



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Gen, Police Brutality, Romance, Slow Burn, cussin', wildehopps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6854437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samur_Umlal/pseuds/Samur_Umlal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything, Nick Wilde is still a bit of a coward.</p><p>After a robbery gone wrong leaves Judy in the hospital, Nick is assigned to Officer Wolford to work the case, and learns that the city's ills don't stop at the door to the Z.P.D.</p><p>(Changed rating to M for lots of cussin'.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Diner & The Corner Store

\----

“10-97, Central.”

The zebra-striped police SUV bucked forward as it skidded to a stop in front of a Happytown corner store. Nick thumbed the radio off, scanning up and down the sidewalks. The streets were still crowded, and two dozen furry faces were already turned to watch the commotion. Judy threw the cruiser door open and hopped--characteristically, Nick supposed--out onto the pavement. The fox slunk after her, quietly hefting the tranquilizer rifle.

He hated the look of the thing, to be honest. It was big, and heavy, and ostensibly serious, yes--but it was all day-glo colors and bright yellow caution stripes. The darts looked like fishing lures. ZPD patrols were allowed lethal weapons--Wolford and Fangmeyer were inordinately pleased with their new shotgun, for one--but Nick's partner had adamantly declined. She hadn't come to Zootopia to hurt people, she said. He agreed, most of the time. But sometimes this city was too big and too cruel and he was that little fox kit, who was cornered and afraid and didn't _want_ to hurt anyone but wished he _could_. Sometimes.

The Zootopia Express powered past a couple of blocks away, bell ringing as if to kick off a ring fight.

Directly in front of them, the corner store’s doors slid open. Nick’s paws tightened. An enormous white Bengal tiger--huge, bigger than Bogo--was menacing two much smaller animals, driving them through the open doorway. It was a female hare, with a child she was now shoving behind her protectively, and--shit--it was the two from the diner they’d spoken to not ten minutes earlier.

“Shit,” Nick observed.

Judy balked. “Nick! That’s the two from the diner!”

The rabbit didn't appear to make a decision. She simply took off at full tilt, hauling a tiny stun gun from her holster. Yelling about ZPD, and put your paws in the air, and other such formal niceties. Horribly, stupidly brave.

He choked back a “Carrots!” It was too late, and she wouldn’t have listened, anyway. Hissing through his teeth, he raised the rifle to cover her. The Bengal stopped, giving the two hares a moment to scrabble away, and turned toward the tiny rabbit charging toward him. He took a step forward.

Nick needed no further encouragement. He pulled the trigger.

Judy had exceeded her partner in nearly all areas at the academy. He’d been too big to hop around on people’s heads like she had, and too small to do anything else. His temperament was ill-suited for academics, too. Nick had always assumed the strength of his policework would come from his more intangible qualities. But he was a better shot--the best in five years, the instructor had told him. So, that was something. Maybe.

A green-tufted dart thudded into the Bengal’s shoulder. He twitched irritably, glanced at Nick--and continued bearing down on Judy. Shit.

“Shit,” said Nick.

The tiny rabbit dropped to all fours as she ran, whipping past a fire hydrant and up onto the curb. She banked sideways, leaping up and springing off a signpost, back toward the tiger. Her flying kick hit him at full speed in the stomach.

The tiger stumbled back a half step as Judy pushed off, then recovered. Massive claws slid silently from sheaths. He started toward her again.

"Fuck," Nick amended.

He rammed the bolt backward and forward to chamber another dart, and fired. Another green plume erupted in the tiger’s chest. Nick’s paws were flitting confidently across the bolt and the trigger now, firing again, and again.

Judy was on the defensive, flitting expertly in and out of range of the huge Bengal’s claws. Tiring him out, as she knew how to do. Waiting for him to go down. But he wasn’t going down. He was huge, and angry, and completely, terrifyingly conscious. The tiger moved confidently, circling purposefully this way and that. Something nagged at the back of Nick's mind. Something was wrong.

There was undoubtedly a regulation tranq dosage for this species, and Nick had probably exceeded it. But things were going poorly, and that was _Carrots_ out there, and Nick had never given much thought to rules anyway. He rammed the bolt forward and fired again. Something was wrong. He fired again. All of the darts were connecting. Something was still wrong--

In one awful moment, it clicked. Gradually, purposefully, the Bengal was backing her toward the fire hydrant. She wouldn’t see it. Not until it was too late.

Nick opened his mouth to yell a warning, and the tiger lunged. Judy hopped back, collided with the hydrant. A huge fist closed on her neck, lifting her up off the ground as her stun gun fired uselessly. The Bengal wheeled around, flinging her at full force against the storefront. Nick could hear the thud from the cruiser. Judy slid down the side of the building, crumpling into a tiny blue heap.

Nick’s heart stopped. “Fuck” seemed inadequate, this time.

\----

**Fifteen minutes earlier:**

"Nicholas Wilde."

She was watching at him over a cup of coffee, salt-and-pepper fur backlit by the sunlight pouring through the diner window. Smiling, essentially, but something in her expression made him put his fork down.

"Judith Hopzmann," he offered.

"Not quite."

"Jumpovitch."

"That's a horrible name. And we're not all named after hopping."

"You are."

"NICK."

"You look great today, Carrots."

She hadn't expected that. Nick smirked. Flustering the rabbit had become one of life's greatest pleasures. And she did look good, anyway. Beautiful. Not that that--

"Thank you, Nick. Why didn't you ever ask me out?"

Now _he_ was on the back foot. "I. Sorry? What?"

Declining to repeat, she just raised her eyebrows and smiled radiantly. Nick hastily assembled an expression of confused innocence.

"Why didn't I?"

"Don't make that stupid face, fox. It doesn't suit you."

Her mouth was smiling now, but her eyes weren't. There was no getting out of this, apparently--but that had never stopped him before.

"Know something I don't, Carrots?"

"Clawhauser said you were going to ask me to dinner three weeks ago. And then you didn't."

"I was...busy. Fighting crime."

"Yeah, Nick, I was there. Listen, were you afraid I was gonna say _no_?"

"No, I mean--"

Nick floundered. He had, apparently unwisely, told Clawhauser about his plans. He'd then spent the following two weeks talking himself out of it. He hadn't been afraid of her rejecting him. Well, maybe a little. But that wasn't the issue.

Growing up as a fox in Happytown, Nick had learned what it felt like to lose people. Friends. Sometimes family. He'd learned what it meant when you got too close to people, when they would die, or leave, or worse, and he loved this rabbit and she was so small and good and willing to throw herself in harm's way for anyone, and he wasn't sure if--

"Excuse me," said a tiny voice. "Are you Officer Judy Hopps ZPD?"

Saved by the bell. They both peered down over the table. There was a girl of about seven--a hare--clutching a piece of paper and staring up at them.

Well, no. Staring up at Judy. Nick was getting about as much attention as the napkin dispenser. Not that he minded.

Judy smiled back warmly. "Yes, I am! You can call me Judy. What's your name?"

The little hare gaped. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment.

"Bina Arnevet," said another hare--the kid's mother, Nick presumed--stepping up behind her. "She wanted to meet you."

"Pleasure to meet you, Bina." Judy shook her tiny paw. "This is my partner, Officer Wilde."

Nick waved.

"Are you a fox, Officer Wilde?" Bina asked.

Nick looked at his tail and swished it around. "Last I checked."

"And you're friends with Miss Judy?"

Nick's first impulse was to quip sarcastically, but this was a Teachable Moment. "Best friends," he said instead. "I joined the police force because of her."

"Oh." Bina seemed to consider that. Judy flashed her partner a smile he didn't particularly deserve right now.

"What have you got there, Bina?" she asked. Bina handed the paper over shyly.

It was an official ZPD poster of a triumphant Judy in full police uniform. Nick had seen them around, briefly, following Mayor Lionheart's arrest. He'd resented her for it at the time. He'd noticed they'd fixed her slightly crooked teeth for the posters, and that he was altogether too familiar with the smile of a rabbit he'd only known for two days. The posters had disappeared from public facilities shortly thereafter, around the same time as the ZPD had quietly announced her resignation--not that he'd been paying attention--and he hadn't thought he'd ever be happy to see them again. But here they were.

"This is...me," Judy said, looking bewildered.

Bina drew a deep breath. "I want to be a police officer like you Miss Judy will you sign my poster please!"

Nick handed her their mutual pen. "Congratulations, Carrots. You're a celebrity."

Bina hopped up and down as Judy scribbled on the poster. As the two chatted excitedly, the older hare stepped over to Nick.

"I'm Rachel, her mother," she said in a soft, heavily-accented voice.

"Nick Wilde." He shook her paw. She was big and lanky, slightly closer to Nick's size than Judy's. He briefly imagined his partner's kicking strength on a fully-grown hare and winced internally.

"I really appreciate this," she said. "She loves Officer Hopps."

_Me too_ , he didn't say.

"She's wanted to be a police officer forever. Her father and I always told her it'd never happen. And then," Rachel gestured to Judy, still talking to Bina, "it was in all the newspapers. What could we say?"

The fox nodded. "Judy...changes things."

The older woman eyed him. "You're lucky to have her in your life."

_I know_. "She's a good cop," he said instead. He poked at his eggs, feeling naked suddenly.

Zootopia's first rabbit officer was wrapping up a comically long autograph.

"I'm going to put my z-mail address on here, okay? Write to me any time. I want to hear how your studies are going."

Bina nodded.

"You're going to make a great police officer," Judy said, affixing one of her Junior ZPD stickers to Bina's dress.

The little hare beamed.

"We should get going," Rachel broke in, shepherding her daughter away from the two officers. "Thank you both so much."

Nick mock-saluted. Judy offered convivial farewells until the family was out the door, then turned back to him.

"Well done, Officer Wilde. We should send you to the grade schools."

"I quit."

"Har har. I mean it, you were good." Her eyes softened in that wonderful, sincere, awful way they always did. Trying to convince him that he mattered, that he was wanted. It was unbearable.

He'd had a plan. He wasn't going to fall for her. They would be friends, but professional. Professional friends. They'd work together and get lunch and go home and think about other people and other things. Someone else would take her to the policemen's ball. It was a great plan, one he'd made a dozen times. But none of his plans seemed to survive first contact with Judy Hopps.

She was looking at him expectantly. He realized his smirk had slipped, so he put it back on.

"That was all you, Carrots. You're a hero to all of rabbitkind. I'm just the sidekick."

Judy smiled and sipped her coffee. "Fine. We'll have to find some starry-eyed fox kits to follow you around, then."

"I quit."

"I thought you quit already."

"I'll double quit," Nick said. "I'm going back to my life of crime."

"You can't get rid of me that easily, slick," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I'll follow you to the ends of the earth."

The fox put a paw over his heart, closing his eyes dramatically. "Carrots. You do care."

"Yeah I do, dummy. Maybe you should ask me out." She imitated one of his smirks.

Their radios sputtered abruptly.

"Savannah and Happytown units, strongarm robbery in progress on Fifth and San Leon. Corner store. Civilians may be down."

"That's a block from here, Carrots."

She grabbed her radio. "One-Alpaca-One responding, over."

"Acknowledged."

Judy locked eyes with Nick, worryingly serious this time. "We will finish this discussion. After."

"You're the boss."

The diner door was still swinging on its hinges, bell jingling merrily, as the massive ZPD cruiser peeled out from the curb and down the street. Nick reached back between the seats for the tranquilizer rifle. He'd loaded it with darts before they went out on patrol, but he checked it anyway.

"Nick. We'll be fine."

They were coming up fast on the corner store.

"Sure, Carrots."

Nick thumbed the radio. "10-97, central."

\----

**Five minutes later:**

Judy wasn't moving. He was yelling her name, but no sound was coming out. The rifle clicked empty. The tiger gave Nick one final, inscrutable look, and bolted off into the crowd. Nick wasn't watching. He tossed the tranquilizer gun to the ground, where it skittered uselessly across the pavement.

He covered the distance to the sidewalk in moments that felt like years. Bystanders from the street and store alike had begun to coalesce around the fallen rabbit. His partner. _His_ rabbit.

"Hey!" he yelled hoarsely, still not finding his voice yet. "Get _back_! Get _away_ from her!"

People weren't hearing. He began shoving big, stupid animals aside, pushing his way towards her. "Easy, fox--" someone started.

A loud, vicious snarl leapt unbidden from the fox's throat. His ears were flat, his nose wrinkled furiously. Prey animals flinched and quailed. He didn't care right now.

"Move BACK!"

They did as they were told. Nick could see Judy now as a space grew around her. She was lying supine on the concrete. Her eyes were closed, forehead and nose bloodied. He couldn't tell if she was breathing.

There was a tiny hare kneeling next to Judy. Shit.

"Shit," said Nick.

"Uh...Bina. Kid," he tried again. "You gotta go." She looked up at him, cheek fur mussed and wet. Shook her head no.

"Where's your mom?" He strained to focus on anything besides his partner.

"I'm here," the elder hare's voice came from beside him. "Do you need me to get her?"

He looked at the kid again--she was just sitting there stoically. Guarding. Holding Judy's paw.

It was too much. Nick's legs buckled. He put his arms out, finding his way to a spot of pavement next to his partner's head. He leaned his ear to her mouth--she was breathing, ragged but steady. Still with him.

Distant sirens began to draw nearer. Nick and Bina's eyes found each other, both streaming tears now. But her jaw jutted determinedly, and his trembled and hung open, and for the next few minutes, he was the little fox kit again.


	2. The Hallway & The Parking Lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy goes to the hospital. Nick is unhelpful.

\----

Nick eventually left his partner's side, calling in an officer down, gliding like a ghost among the civilians. Doing his job. An otter and a yak were clawed up, but upright and lucid. Out of danger. That was good. She would have been proud of him. Would be.

Eventually the street was awash in red and blue. Bogo was striding up, eyes on fire, flanked by a half-dozen armed and armored officers. He always showed up for Judy. The chief would never admit it, Nick was sure, but he'd grown as fond of the defiant little bunny as anyone. It was, probably, the only reason he'd ever put up with Nick in the first place.

"Wilde. How are we doing?"

Nike spoke hoarsely. "Suspect is gone, sir. Two civilians need medical attention. Ca--Officer Hopps is breathing. I don't know any more than--than--"

Someone put a blanket around his shoulders.

"It's alright, Wilde." Bogo's eyes fell to the little hare sitting next to Judy, and he shifted into his soft, silky manner reserved exclusively for civilians.

"Hey, sweetie, you need to go be with your parents."

She shook her head, still holding Judy's paw. Bogo tried again.

"We're going to take care of her, I promise. We need to make room for the doctors. Please."

The kid hesitated, then nodded and scampered into her mother's arms, turning back to look over her shoulder. Bogo knelt down to Judy's side.

"We've got you, Hopps. Hang in there." Then he stood up, and the tenderness was gone again. "Secure this area, _NOW_. Who saw the suspect go?"

Things were happening. Tigers and rhinoceri with long black rifles were ushering people out of the store and off the block. A raccoon was taking photographs--of the store, of the ZPD officers, of Nick's useless tranquilizer rifle still lying on the pavement. Nick saw Wolford approaching the photographer, pushing him back. Pointing. _Get out of here_. The armed police were forming a perimeter. Someone squeezed Nick's shoulder as they brushed past.

Soon, antelope paramedics were there, gingerly loading Judy onto a stretcher. The chief was exchanging quiet words with one of them, inclining his head and gesticulating toward the rabbit. Nick decided he needed to go with her. If he could just convince Bogo to--

"Sir, could you come with me please?"

 _Okay_. It was the antelope Bogo had been speaking with. Without waiting for a reply, he put a slender arm around Nick's blanketed shoulders and guided him into the back of the ambulance.

The injured otter--the cashier from the corner store, Nick thought he remembered--was sitting on the bench inside, half of his face wrapped in red-stained gauze. He looked up at Nick and scooted hastily over to make room.

Nick sat. They were loading Judy into the ambulance, now. The stretcher jolted slightly as it clipped the floor.

" _Careful_!" he barked, face twisting up in a snarl again.

"Please try to relax, sir," one of the antelopes said, gentle but dispassionate. Nick stared at him.

The doors slammed, and they were moving. Both of the antelopes were tending frenetically to Judy. They spoke in clipped, sharp tones, words the fox didn't understand. Mostly. "Lung is collapsed," didn't mean anything good.

They rammed a syringe between her ribs. Blood spattered their uniforms. Nick buried his face in his paws.

**Fifteen minutes later:**

They were wheeling her into surgery. Nick was angry again. They weren't taking this seriously enough. Didn't they know who she was?

A big porcupine attendant had placed herself intractably in front of him.

"I'm sorry sir, you can't be back here."

"I'm the _police_."

"Well, we're the hospital, and you can't come back here."

"I can arrest you."

She gave him a look of incredibly strained compassion.

"Mr. Wilde, I understand you're upset."

"Listen, that's _my partner_ and I _need_ her _back, I can't--_ "

 _ _Can't what_? _ He clammed up and glared at her instead, ears flat.

" _WILDE_." Bogo's voice boomed from down the hall, drawing nearer. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"I'm, uh, taking care of Hopps, sir."

"Really," the buffalo said, towering over them as he came to a stop. "It looks an awful lot like you're harassing this woman."

Nick's hackles rose. "She won't let me--they're acting like this is--"

Bogo squatted down, so that they were nose-to-nose. His eyes were as hard as the fox had ever seen them. "Pull yourself," he said quietly, "the _fuck_ together, Wilde."

Nick shrank. A lot of stupid, angry words died on his lips. He swallowed.

"Yes, sir."

"Take some air. I'll meet you outside in ten minutes."

Nick looked pathetically in the direction they'd taken his rabbit.

"Wilde," Bogo said, quiet but firm. "She's in good hands."

"Hooves, sir." The fox grinned weakly.

"Shut up and get out."

Nick did.

It was a beautiful day outside the hospital, for whatever that was worth. Bright sun shone down, tempered by a light breeze that flicked Nick's cheek fur one way and another and rippled through the tufts of his inner ears. The sensation was calming, maybe, or maybe he had just run out of things to feel. The fox had been from terror to heartbreak to rage in a few short minutes--after the chaos of the last half hour, the cultivated stillness of the parking lot was some kind of comfort.

A part of him still wanted to hate the families chattering their ways across the parking lot to shiny new sedans and well-worn station wagons, the distant horn blast of the Zootopia Express coming into station--to hate the city itself, for continuing to function as normal when someone so fundamental to it lay shattered. But Nick had simply run out of anger.

A year and a half ago, he almost certainly would have had more in reserve. He had become so goddamn _happy_ \--even if it was, parenthetically, modulated by his ever-present fears and pessimisms--that he'd found a lot of his characteristic bitterness slipping away. _Turning into a fucking pussy_ , Finnick had observed.

Nick watched a gull peck doggedly at the contents of an abandoned Bugburga box. He was starting to feel cold.

"Officer Wilde."

The _fucking pussy_ jumped violently. To squirrels and rabbits and other tiny mammals, of course, a fox was a menacing presence. But he shared with mustelids and wildcats the dubious distinction of being one of the smaller and more fragile predators in the animal kingdom--a wretched nuisance, if anything. With that, of course, came a certain degree of instinctual cowardice, especially when it came to half-ton slabs of cape buffalo materializing within inches of one's person.

Nick mourned the end of his moment of tranquility and attempted to breathe again.

"Hi, sir. Must have missed you standing there."

"Must have, Wilde."

Bogo gazed out across the lot for a long moment.

"It's quiet," he observed.

"At least, it was, sir."

"You're an ass, Wilde," Bogo said. "It continues to elude me why or how your partner is willing to tolerate you."

"I've wondered the same thing myself," Nick replied truthfully.

The chief snorted. They didn't look at each other.

"She's stabilizing," Bogo said finally. "Not out of danger. Doctor said they're hopeful, but...it'll be a while before they'll say anything for sure."

"'A while'?"

"Hours. Days. I don't know, Wilde. You never know, with these things."

How many of these things, Nick wondered, had the hard-eyed buffalo had been through? One was already too many.

The fox drew a breath, straightening up.

"Sir, I'm ready for duty, if you need me to--"

"No you're not."

Nick wilted.

"You've been here less than an hour, Wilde. At your best you're a sarcastic idiot. Today you're a scared, weepy idiot. I'm not hopeful you can even drive a car right now."

"I can drive a car," Nick lied.

" _However_ ," Bogo continued, "I do have something that needs doing, and I do think you're the best person to do it."

The fox's ears perked up.

"I need you to drive a car."

_Shit._


	3. The Turnout & The Burrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick goes out of town.

\----

Zootopia Police Academy had a driving test, for which Nick Wilde had studied and practiced diligently. And failed, four times, before managing a passing score. He was, as had been said, one of those eternal shotgun friends. Lucky for him, then, that he'd been issued a beater of a car--an old unmarked Crown Vicuna Interceptor with flaking silver paint and extensive rust damage. So there would be no hard feelings, he hoped, in the not-unlikely event of him driving it into a tree. At least it was an automatic.

Nick, like the Interceptor, was out-of-uniform. Figuring his usual green floral shirt was a bit gauche for the occasion, he'd settled on an ash polo. He adjusted his glasses in the mirror, thinking he looked more like a cop now than in his dress blues. He'd have been tagged the minute he set foot in Happytown.

Today, at least, that wouldn't be a problem.

The fox had started the trip feeling as good as he might have hoped--not happy, but calm and filled with renewed purpose. But it hadn't lasted for long. As he'd crossed the city limit and headed down the narrow two-lane highway into the forest, the comforting smells of the Zootopia--exhaust, musk, gasoline, a plethora of ethnic foods--gave way to the unfamiliar. The pines' scent was oppressive. They towered above the small fox in his Interceptor, occluding the sunlight that had soaked the city.

Nick felt his eyes beginning to burn. Was he allergic to something out here? He'd never had occasion to find out. He rolled up the windows. It didn't help. He sneezed.

The odometer rolled over; he was nearly a hundred miles from the city, now. The numbness he'd felt earlier was rapidly ebbing away, leaving in its place a deep, aching sadness. Guilt, too, as it began to register just how far he was from his partner. Had their roles been switched, she never would have left his side.

There was nothing out here--the trees had given way to vast agricultural expanses, rows of greenery strobing by as he passed. Judy would have made a point of telling him what was growing in each and every field, and he would have feigned interest, poorly, until she caught on and punched him.

The fuel light was on again. He began scanning for the next gas station, grateful for the distraction.

It was, entirely unexpectedly, a ramshackle roadside construction on a dirt turnout. A rabbit-eared sign read "Lepine's Gas," and an ancient wood-bed pickup truck was parked in back. Nick swung the Crown Vicuna off the road, kicking up a dust plume as the tires cracked and rumbled over the gravel. He pulled up to the single gas pump, pausing for a moment to allow the dust to clear before stepping out.

It was hot. Oppressively hot. Hot like Sahara Square always was, only without the promise of air conditioning within two hundred strides of anywhere. Barbarically hot.

Nick stepped around the car to the gas pump, continuing to disapprove of the temperature as he rummaged for his credit card.

He found the card, and swiped it. The pump flashed a dirt-caked message that looked an awful lot like "Card read error."

Nick tried again. "Card read error," the display informed him helpfully. _Okay._

"Okay," said the fox.

He padded back around the cruiser and over to the shop-like structure. Vinyl lettering reading "Mart" had been affixed unconvincingly to the window, along with an assortment of home-printed lotto and tobacco advertisements and a cardboard sign reading "Open." Nick put on his respectable face--the one he'd used for buying jumbo pops, among other things--and pushed his way in.

A bell jingled, and the fox could feel eyes on him immediately. An old rabbit in an apron stood behind the register, eyes alert and full of challenge.

"Hey, buddy!" Nick called, all smiles. This wasn't so different from home. "Nice place you got here."

"Can I help you," asked the gas rabbit, " _sir_?"

"Need some gas," Nick replied easily. "Pump won't take my card." The fox crossed to the counter and slapped his credit card down lightly.

The rabbit ignored the card, looking Nick dead in the eye.

"Cash only."

Nick looked down. There was a service bell, a leave-a-penny tray, and, yes, a credit card reader. The fox raised his eyebrows innocently and tapped the card reader.

"I only have my card on me. This thing busted too?" he asked, generously offering an out.

"No," answered the rabbit deadly. "Cash only."

"It does say you take credit. There's a little note on the--"

"You deaf, fox?"

Nick sighed. So _that_ was how it was going to be.

"I mean," he said, pulling his badge from his pocket and unfolding it on the counter, "I also have this."

The rabbit frowned.

"What the hay is this?"

"Officer Wilde, ZPD. How ya doing."

"Ain't no fox cops."

"One or two now," Nick said. "You should really read the papers. Or internet. Do they have that here?"

The gas rabbit glared absolute daggers at the fox for a moment, then turned to the register and tapped some keys. "Swipe it."

Nick smiled widely and oleaginously. "Thank you so much. Can I get forty's worth?"

No reply. Swipe. Tap, tap.

The receipt printed. "You're good."

"Oh, sorry, could I get a bottled water?" Nick asked, feeling petty. He smirked as the sound of frustrated foot thumping pattered up from beneath the counter.

"On the house."

Nick went over to the refrigerator and slid the door open, selecting a large one. He paused for a moment to let fridge air cool his fur.

"Hey...Mister," the rabbit cashier asked, apparently deciding to be civil. "What brings you out this way?"

"Nothing good," the fox replied, slamming the fridge door shut. "But you probably guessed that already."

\----

Two hours later, tired and heartbroken and sweaty and needing to pee, Nick took the exit toward Bunnyburrow. Nothing changed, particularly, even after several minutes of driving--same flat fields of crops, same nasty sun, same bleached asphalt and dusty turnouts every few miles.

As if to mock him, his GPS shut off. "Out of service range," read his phone screen. Fuck.

"Fuck," Nick said, wishing he'd written down the Hopps family's address. But no problem, he could ask someone, right? These bunnies all knew each other. They'd tell him, right? It occurred to him that--considering how his gas stop had been--maybe they wouldn't. Fine. He'd make it work.

A huge lifted pickup truck materialized behind his Interceptor, tailgating him closely for a minute before speeding past in the oncoming lane. The diesel roar rattled his windows, and he could just catch a "fuck out of here, fox" before they sped off into the distance.

Nick hunkered down in his seat. He suddenly wished he'd brought a gun, then felt ashamed for thinking it. These were his partner's neighbors, after all. Asking for directions, he realized, might be more of a problem.

Or not. A large roadside sign reading "Hopps Family Farm" resolved itself in the near distance, along with a collection of interconnected ranch house-like structures at the end of a long dirt driveway. Nick swerved onto the driveway without signaling. As he drew nearer, he spotted a familiar truck parked out front. There were rabbits everywhere, he realized, between the buildings and under and on top of things and out in the fields. Mostly children, with a dozen or so adults scattered around. All watching him, of course. He resolved, circumstances allowing, to mock his partner later for the ludicrous size of her family.

A plump middle-aged bunny had stepped out of the ranch house and was observing his approach from the front porch. She kept her eyes on the Interceptor--on him?--as he pulled to a stop beside the family truck. Nick sat in his seat for a moment, squeezing the wheel with both paws and breathing. This was going to be something.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and elbowed the cruiser door open. With one more only slightly ragged breath, he approached the rabbit on the porch.

"Mrs. Hopps?"

She looked at him quizzically.

"It's me, Officer Wilde. I work with your daughter--we met once, at the Gazelle...?"

"Oh!" She slapped her forehead. "Nick, of course! I'm sorry, I didn't--it's nice to see you." She flashed him the obsequious smile, he thought, of a progressive straining to live up to their ideals, before slipping into a look of confusion. "What are you doing here? Where's Judy?"

His poker face failed him, or maybe the elder Hopps was as sharp as her daughter. Before he could answer, she raised her paws to her mouth in horror.

"Maybe we'd better sit down, Mrs. Hopps."

She nodded and held the door open for him.

"Stu?" she called back into the house, voice breaking. "Something's happened."

Judy's father joined them, and the two rabbits led Nick to a secluded living area, shooing babies and relatives away as they went. When they were something approaching alone, Nick told them. As much as seemed wise, at any rate--that Judy had been injured on a patrol, that they didn't know whether or when she was going to pull through.

Bonnie took it on the chin, jaw firmly set and eyes hard even as tears trickled from them. Stu was less composed. The male rabbit buried his face in his paws and sobbed, convulsing and gasping. Nick was quiet, eyes dry, looking at his paws to give them some measure of privacy. Or because he could see too much of Judy in both of them, somehow.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually.

"I knew this would happen," Stu mumbled, seemingly to Bonnie. "It was always going to come to this. They should have put her with someone else. Someone who would have..."

Nick looked at him sharply. "Would have what?"

"You know. Looked out for her."

"What do you think I--"

"We're not blaming you, dear," Bonnie cut in. "It's in your nature--you know, solitary animals, not given to..." She trailed off, seeming to realize what she was saying.

The fox stared at her as though he'd been stabbed.

"We know you care about her," Stu put in, as if to paper over what had just come out. "Our Jude's always spoken highly of y--"

" _Mr. and Mrs. Hopps_ ," Nick said finally. Louder than he'd intended; the two rabbits started and grasped for each other's paws. Nick took a deep breath, willing the anger back down. He wasn't a child. He could control himself.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hopps," he said again. "I can't speak to biology." He leaned on the word meaningfully. "But if you think I wouldn't trade my life for hers in a second--"

The Hoppses raised their eyebrows at him.

"You're, uh...wrong," he finished.

They all looked at the floor.

"Well," Bonnie found her way to saying. "Thank you for coming out all this way to tell us, Nick."

"If you need, I can give you a ride to the city," Nick offered. "To see her."

Stu shook his head. "We'll take our truck, thank you."

There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Nick stood up. Bonnie joined him, leading him through the labyrinthine hallways of the warren.

They stopped at the front door, looking out across the carrot fields.

"We weren't fair to you, back there," Bonnie said.

"No," Nick agreed. Judy's mother sighed.

"It's just...we always told her. We told her it would be too dangerous," Bonnie said quietly. "Too many animals too much bigger than her, too much crueler. She never listened."

"She'll be okay," Nick hazarded.

"Well. Have a safe drive home, Nick."

The drive was safe, but he felt like shit the whole way.


	4. The Apartment & The Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick goes to work.

\----

The shriek of the alarm ripped through Nick's brain, shattering whatever reality he'd been inhabiting moments earlier. He started awake, uncoiling from his ball like a spring and grabbing frantically for the alarm clock. His reach fell short, pitching him forward out of the dresser drawer in which he slept and banging his cheek off the corner of his nightstand. Foreclaws scrabbled against the wood flooring as he caught himself.

The fox allowed himself a feral growl before pulling himself up with both paws and swatting the alarm off with a savage curse. Breathing hard, he turned around and slid back down to the floor, back against the nightstand, to take his usual stock. Who and where was he? Nick Wilde--con artist--in his apartment. Disappointing, but acceptable. He felt worse than usual. Why?

Why was there a police hat on the table?

The memories came flooding back in bleary sequence: the rabbit, the missing mammals, the jaguar, the asylum, the rabbit, the rabbit again, and then he was a police officer. The _rabbit_. His failure at the corner store and subsequent helplessness. Bunnyburrow. Disappointing her parents. Retching in a ditch halfway back from Bunnyburrow. Being tailed by a horse in a Zootopia County Sheriff's vehicle (that he was used to, at least).

Nick had arrived back in the city after dark, caked in dust and exhausted. A message from Bogo had pinged in: no news from Hopps, don't come into the station, get some sleep. He'd left the Crown Vicuna on the street near his apartment building and padded inside numbly. Somehow, he'd fallen asleep.

So here he was. He padded purposefully to the kitchen, changing the filter on the coffee maker and starting a new pot. He was fine. The little kit inside him, now rested, was daring him to cry again. Determined to handle this like an adult, he went to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet instead.

Washing out his jaws in the shower, Nick wondered what it was that had him on the ropes so badly here. He _liked_ Judy, certainly, and they'd had a flirty, affectionate rapport that felt not quite like anything he'd experienced. But he'd lost people before. The fox recalled years past--fourteen, seventeen, nineteen, nineteen again--none of them had been easy, but none was ever nearly so debilitating.

Nick wasn't hungry, but probably needed to eat. Checking the fridge to see if there were any good eggs left, he determined instead that someone had swapped the half-and-half for hazardous waste sometime in the past two days. He nearly threw up again. Maybe he didn't need to eat after all.

Breakfast aborted, he returned to the bathroom and examined himself in the mirror, dressed only in a miserable expression. A damp fox was not an impressive sight on the best of days, and Nick's sleep deficit wasn't doing him any favors.

He grumbled and toweled off, pulling on a clean pair of boxer shorts followed by the uniform he'd left on piled on the table when he'd departed for Bunnyburrow. Looking back in the mirror to fix his tie, he allowed himself a smirk. This was a bit better. He polished the badge with his cuff.

There were a few paper cups left in the cabinet above the sink, so he poured some coffee. One open of the fridge door confirmed what his canid nose had suspected about the half-and-half since the day before yesterday, so that was out. Something to deal with later. He pocketed his keys, lifted the coffee cup by the rim so as not to burn his paw pads, and headed out the door.

A couple of his weasel neighbors, loitering in the hallway, eyed him as he passed. A year ago, they'd been friendly enough, but the badge changed things. Nick, however, was practiced in pretending not to notice. He gave them an easy smile and a wink as he passed, and they looked away.

The Crown Vicuna was where he'd left it, looking beat and dusty enough to have been taken dune-hopping in Sahara Square. He'd thoughtlessly left it unlocked the night before, which conveniently allowed him to slip behind the wheel without finding a place to set his coffee. He took a few gulps to keep it from sloshing out and set it in the cupholder, buckling his seatbelt. That was another new thing Judy had beaten into him.

He turned the key, and the cruiser juddered solidly to life under him.

Nick kept the windows up, uncharacteristically, on the way to the station. He'd always felt at ease in the city, walking or riding along with his assortment of large-eared accomplices. He was distrusted, of course, and occasionally kicked when not in uniform. But he was a fox. It came with the territory. The Zootopia he knew, warts and all, didn't grab tiny little rabbit girls with big hearts and shatter their bodies against cinderblock. This Zootopia was out of _line_.

He flicked the blinker, and thought about guns again.

\----

Clawhauser looked up from the front desk as Nick slipped into the lobby. The big cheetah was nursing a thirty-ounce Snarlbucks, eyes red and puffy, fur rumpled and sticking out at odd angles. His uniform, though, was freshly washed and buttoned snugly up to his chin.

"Hey, Nicky," he said gently.

"Hey, buddy." Nick approached the desk and tossed the keys down. Clawhauser flinched at the clatter. "Took a car down to the Burrows yesterday. It's back in the motor pool now. Could use a wash."

"Okay. _Oh_ ," said the cheetah. "Those poor bunnies. They take it well?"

Nick waggled his bony black paws.

"About as well as you can take 'hey, I got your baby girl crushed by a tiger, and she's probably dying.' Nice folks, anyway."

" _Nick_."

"Come on, Clawsy. Just jokes." He arranged his snout into a wide grin.

"You're super funny."

"All right, buddy, you're killing me," Nick protested. "I have roll call."

Clawhauser nodded and waved him by. Nick was nearly to the door when the big cheetah called after him.

"Hey, Nicky."

"What's up?"

"Tell me if you need anything."

Nick cocked his head. "Wanna get my dress blues pressed? I keep forgetting."

"I mean it."

"Me too," Nick answered. "It's gonna look like shit if I have to go to a wake or something."

Clawhauser gave him a pitying look that he wasn't at all comfortable with. He turned and scampered on through the door.

He made his way to his seat up front and clambered up, avoiding the eyes on him. The big chair felt very empty today.

The watch commander shouted them to attention as Chief Bogo entered.

"At ease," he barked. They sat.

"As you may know," the chief began, "yesterday morning, we had an assault on an officer. Miss Hopps is currently in serious condition at Savannah Medical."

There were scattered gasps from the few who hadn't heard yet.

"The suspects are at large. Officer Wolford is heading up the investigation." Bogo drew a breath. "Additional information will be distributed through channels."

Nick could feel more eyes on him as the chief began rattling off assignments. He chafed at the sympathy.

"...Wilde," Bogo said, coming to the end of the docket. "My office, now."

Nick blinked. The big buffalo turned and banged out the door without so much as a glance.

 _Shit_.


	5. The Office & The Cubicle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick gets a new partner.

\----

Nick drew a steady breath. Before him was the door to Bogo's office, the imperious curl of the chief's horns was just barely visible through the greenish smoked glass. The silhouetting was surely intentional--he had no idea how old the door was, how many generations of ZPD chiefs had sat behind it, subtly intimidating their visitors. At present, the massive cape buffalo cut as ominous a figure as anyone. And as much as Nick was in Judy's corner when it came to mammal inclusion, there were times he saw the value of a police chief who could inspire abject terror in just about anyone.

Today was not one of those times. Exhaling, preparing himself for the inevitable dressing-down, Nick knocked.

"Come in."

The fox had to strain to reach the door handle--how did Judy ever manage to get in here, he wondered--and awkwardly careened inside as the big metal door clicked open. Bogo had his nose buried in some papers of indeterminate origin, and didn't look up, so Nick made his way to the chief's desk. The seat, too, was far too big, but the fox was used to these by now. He crouched and leapt up, landing on all fours before sitting back on his haunches and fixing his tie, trying--without much success--not to look too feral in the process.

Bogo lifted up the stack of papers he'd been examining, tapped them together against his desk, and set them neatly aside before turning his attention to the small red animal in front of him.

"Hopps is in surgery," he said. "Prognosis is good. Cautiously."

Nick nodded, trying not to let the hope bubbling up through his belly betray itself on his face. Bogo seemed to study him.

"I want to tell you I do appreciate your being back at your desk today."

" _De nada_ , sir."

"You've been a truly exemplary officer, in nearly every respect--"

"Are you coming on to me, sir?"

"--except for that one--"

"I believe fraternization between officers is frowned upon--"

"Shut up, Wilde. You're one to talk about fraternization, in any case--"

"Fuckin' Clawhauser."

"Shut _UP_."

Nick snapped his jaws shut audibly, fighting a smirk. Bogo leveled a glare at him for a few seconds before continuing, deliberately.

"The reason you are here," he said, "is so that I can let you know Officer Wolford is investigating yesterday's incident. You will write your report and deliver it to him as soon as possible."

"Yes, chief."

"After that--You have PTO. If you need a week, take it. Otherwise, if you are _emotionally compromised_ , I can give you parking duty or some other milksop detail. Minimal effort, which I'm sure you'd appreciate, fox. Just say the word."

Nick considered that.

"However," Bogo went on, "I have a bad feeling that I'm not going to keep you away from this case. One way or another."

"Most likely not, sir."

"So, despite you being a large and persistent pain in my very own personal ass, I am prepared to assign you to Wolford."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate it."

"I would appreciate you, Wilde, _appreciating_ that this is fairly irregular, and on the basis of you being better at closing cases than following orders. I am rewarding your bad behavior. Do NOT make me regret it."

Nick raised a paw theatrically. "Scout's honor."

Bogo gave a derisive snort. "Fine. Go talk to Wolford," the chief ordered. "And get that report written."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Wilde, did you speak with the Hoppses?"

As Nick opened his mouth to reply, he heard the door slam open behind him.

"CHIEF _BOGO_!"

Bogo's eyes went large for a moment, before settling into his usual polite facade.

"Um. Can I help you, Mister and Missus..."

"HOPPS," came the angry reply. We're here to know why you sent our daughter into danger--"

"--partnered with a _fox_ \--" cut in another voice.

"--who couldn't be trusted to protect her."

"They put themselves first, it's just their way."

Nick leaned around the chair, revealing himself to the two rabbits. And the two dozen other rabbits clustered outside the open door.

Stu and Bonnie's eyes bulged for a moment, and they began to stammer something about coming back later.

"No, that's perfectly all right," Bogo interrupted, catching Nick's eye. "Officer Wilde was just on his way out."

"That's right," Nick agreed emphatically. "Here I go, out the door." He hurried his way past the two old rabbits and shut the door behind him.

He looked around. Forty rabbit eyes stared at him, in various degrees of balefulness, from up and down the hallway. This was a new experience. Nick waved. One or two young rabbits waved back, until adults slapped their paws down. Nick's bushy tail curled around his legs unconsciously.

The fox was saved from further discomfiture by a coarse, strident voice.

"Hey, RABBITS. You can't be up here. Back to the waiting area," Fenrir Wolford barked, waving arms in front of him. "Go on, out, out, out. Free carrots in the lobby."

The rabbits cowered and scurried off down the hallway. The wolf laughed.

"Just snap at 'em, Wilde. Bunnies are scared to death of you guys."

"I guess," Nick shrugged easily. "I'm just too nice a guy."

Wolford cackled. "Yeah, right. So, you in for this investigation or what?"

Nick tipped his head. The wolf offered a paw, and they shook.

"I should do the report for yesterday," Nick said. "While it's fresh."

"Come on," Wolford laughed. "We have reports from four other responding officers, anyway. It'll keep."

"I guess I could do it this evening," Nick allowed.

"Good boy." Wolford checked his watch. "Hey, let's go talk to our star witness."

\----

The star witness turned out to be a young, fidgety mountain goat in an expensive shirt, named Chad (the goat, not the shirt) who'd moved to Zootopia eight months prior to work as a software engineer. He looked up from his phone as the two cops filed into the interrogation room.

"Hey," offered the goat. "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

"Don't worry," Wolford answered genially. "We just want to see what you can tell us. I'm Officer Wolford, and Officer Wilde was the first responding officer yesterday. Officer Wilde, this is Chad Gadia."

Nods were exchanged. "Thought I recognized you," Gadia said to Nick. "Weren't you on TV before? The Bellwether thing?"

"I'm very important and famous, yes," Nick confirmed. "And wealthy."

Gadia frowned, seeming unamused.

"Mostly he's just obnoxious," Wolford put in, by way of explanation. "What can you tell us about yesterday, Mr. Gadia?"

The goat's face cleared. "Yeah, uh, I was walking to the corner store for more coffee. I could hear shouting from inside as I got close. Got pretty worried, because it's a bad neighborhood, lots of, you know, sketchy mammals."

"Yeah, it is," Wolford nodded. "Could you make out anything?"

"No, just roaring or whatever. I could see something big in there tearing shit up, so I crossed to the other side of the street and called 911. I stayed put for a minute, and this huge tiger comes out and is like coming after people. Then you guys showed up, this guy--" he gestured at Nick, "and the, you know, the bunny cop. And the tiger just wrecks her shit. I mean--sorry--he knocks her down. Looks really bad. And there were a bunch of people watching, the tiger just booked it past them."

"Did you see where he went?"

"Yeah, dude, he came towards me. I almost pissed myself, you know?" Nick looked away to roll his eyes, but Wolford nodded in earnest sympathy. "Anyway, he headed down this side alley, out of view of the square. There was a guy in a van waiting for him at the other end. He got in and they pulled away. I couldn't see them after they left the alley."

"Can you describe the van?"

"It was light grey, I think, one of those full-size ones. Looked like it was from the eighties, pretty beat."

"Did you get a look at the driver? Any other passengers?"

"The driver was a raccoon, I think, or a big weasel. Maybe an otter. I'm not really sure. Definitely a pred. No offense to you guys."

Nick rolled his eyes again.

"Don't worry about it," Wolford reassured him. "Like you said, it's a bad neighborhood."

"Yeah, I'm thinking of moving," Gadia said. "I mean, I don't have anything against...anyone, but Happytown is so sketch. Tons of homeless preds, I saw a fight at that same store the month I got here. You guys need to have more officers in the area, if you want my opinion. A lot of these people need to be in jail."

Nick bristled. He'd grown up in Happytown. It'd started out as one of Zootopia's designated predator neighborhoods a century ago, and that was supposed to be ancient history now, but families still lived under the shadows of those old partitions. Nick's mother had never been able to find a way out, scraping and saving for Nick's education and sending him to an out-of-area school, only to see him slapped down hard by his prey peers. Then, later, even with his hustler's income--which she'd hated, but tolerated--they struggled to find rentors who were kindly disposed enough to even speak to them. And now there were arrogant _kids_ like Gadia moving in, too good for everyone the moment they put paw to pavement.

He forced down his self-righteousness. Judy was definitely rubbing off on him.

"We're doing the best we can, sir," he said evenly.

"I guess," said the goat.

\----

"How do you deal with guys like that?" Nick wondered aloud.

"Guys like what?" Wolford asked, not looking up from his monitor.

The two canines were sitting at Wolford's space, Nick having moved a laptop and some of his things from his usual shared desk with Judy. Probably for the best, for now--he could do without the bunny's entire extended family gazing at him accusingly from their picture frames. And it was grim and lonely--her chair empty, yellow sticky notes with reminders to him about paperwork and uniform cleaning, signed off with little hearts. Lingering rabbit scent. Bummers all around.

"Guys like what?" Wolford repeated.

"Gadia. You know. With the 'pred' stuff."

"Oh, come on," shrugged the timber wolf. "He didn't mean anything by it."

They were poring over traffic camera footage. Coverage in Happytown was patchy at best, and the corner store robbery wasn't visible from any angles. They'd found Nick and Judy exiting the diner down the street, followed a few minutes later by their backup. They'd found the ambulance leaving the scene in the other direction, passing under the train trestle that ran parallel to Pack Street. No sign of the van.

"You know," said Nick, "he was talking about us, wolf."

"Maybe he has a point, fox. What was your last job, again?"

Nick was silent.

"Anyway," Wolford added, "he gave us a lead."

"Yeah."

A fairly shit lead, for all the good it had done them so far, but it was only noon--evidenced by the muffled bells and horn of the Zootopia Express pulling into Savannah Central Station across the street. He and Wolford had only been at this for a couple of hours. Still, though, the longer they went without a trail, the less likely it was that they'd ever find their suspects. That was a troubling thought--the only thing worse than losing his partner would be failing to nail the animals responsible.

Nick frowned. The Zootopia Express. Something clicked in his old hustler's brain. He pulled up a street map, traced out Gadia's stated path with a claw, found the alley the goat must have been talking about.

"Wolford."

"What?"

"Gadia's alley connects to Pack Street."

"So?"

"We have camera coverage of Pack. The Zootopia Express just runs over it for twenty blocks."

"Oh. Shit."

It took another half hour of scrubbing through footage--they had to check every turnoff from Pack from both sides--but eventually they found what they were looking for: a gray Econolion van with a dark-furred mustelid at the wheel. The driver was good, and took the van on a roundabout path, dodging behind buses, trees, and overpasses at every opportunity. Nick knew what to look for, though, and after another hour and a half of clicking and eyestrain, they watched the van pull into a small warehouse on Marshland. The driver--probably a wolverine, Nick decided, no thanks to Gadia's guesses--hopped out and walked to the rear of the van, banging a couple times on the back door before pulling down a metal sheet over the warehouse entrance.

"There it is," Wolford said, yanking open his desk drawer and pulling out a Flock-Nineteen. "Let's get over there."

Nick grunted, rubbing his eyes blearily. "You know," he said, "we only have Gadia's word that the suspect was in that van."

"Technicalities," Wolford said. "You got a duty weapon?"


	6. The Streets & The Warehouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilde and Wolford raid the goddamn warehouse.

\----

Wilde and Wolford--One-Zebra-Three--rolled to a stop at the Fifth and San Leon intersection. The two canines were in plainclothes, Nick in his favorite acapulco shirt and Wolford in a black polo. They'd taken an undercover vehicle--a black Elkswagen MPV--from the motor pool. The car was equipped with a low-profile dashboard cam and a police radio. Wolford had turned the latter off and was blasting a classic rock station. Both of them were wearing concealed pistols, and Wolford's Ramington 870 shotgun lay down between the seats, out of sight of pedestrians. It was, all in all, a very different ride than Nick was used to. Different, too, from anything in his checkered past--even in his criminal career, he'd never carried a weapon. But necessary, now. Judy was still in surgery, and he wasn't about to let the mammals responsible slither into the night again.

Only one day since the robbery, and the corner store was back in business. Foxes, weasels, raccoons, and the occasional prey animal filed in and out, hauling plastic bags full of groceries and liquor. The ZPD police line was long gone, as were the evidence collectors. Little was left but a few small spatters of blood on the sidewalk--easy to miss, to anyone who didn't know what to look for. A few local news teams, late to the story, were packing up, hauling their cameras and tripods back into vans under the rising midmorning sun. It was already starting to get hot.

Nick eyed the corner store as they pulled past. It was only a few blocks from his childhood home, and not unfamiliar to him. It had been the target of a few small-time robberies throughout the years, without much injury or rancor, and had managed to stay in business. As a teenager, he'd used to pay the homeless stoat on the block to buy beer and cigarettes for him, until he'd found a more reliable source of intoxicants who called himself Finnick. Nick had no particular affection for the store, but it had felt home-adjacent, if not like home. He wasn't sure what it felt like, now.

"Everything back to normal," Nick said aloud.

"Right as rain," said Wolford. "What'd you expect, a vigil? Most of these fucks were probably happy to see us get our asses handed to us."

Nick grunted noncommittally. Judy wouldn't have believed that. Wouldn't have accepted it. But he knew the timber wolf wasn't entirely wrong.

The corner store receded into the distance. They were headed up past the northern reaches of Savannah Central, where Happytown bordered the Rainforest District delta. They had a no-knock warrant for the warehouse on Marshland. The van was still there, if the traffic cameras were to be believed. The whereabouts of the two suspects were another question. Nick drummed his paw pads against his gun holster tensely. He hated Wolford's taste in music--anthemic synthesizers and guitar solos had grated after the third or fourth minute, and showed no sign of abating. He almost missed Finnick's Hyène NTM CDs.

"So, Wilde, you and Hopps."

"Yeah?"

"Are you, you know."

"What?"

"Getting it in?"

"What."

"Are you _hitting that_ , Wilde."

"What? No!"

"Really? She available?"

"She's in the _hospital_. Fuck you."

Wolford barked a laugh. "I'm just messing with you, Wilde. We gotta get your sense of humor back online."

"Okay, okay." Nick raised his paws, wanting to get off the subject.

"Don't worry. I'm happily married. To a beautiful wolf. I'll leave that interspecies shit to your people."

Nick forced a chuckle.

"Seriously, though, she's a nice girl, Wilde. I hope she pulls through."

They were rolling through a stop sign in a particularly run-down area when a rock cracked against the driver's side window. Nick jerked to look, startled out of his thoughts. Hairline cracks snaked down the glass. Wolford slammed hard on the brakes. A car behind them honked irritably. Across the street, a bunch of young predators, raccoons and weasels, ducked behind a corrugated metal fence.

"Fucking cops!" came a small voice from behind the fence. A few more rocks sailed over, going wide of the Elkswagen.

"How did--little pred _shits_ ," Wolford snarled, unbuckling his seatbelt and shouldering the door open.

"Hang on," Nick said. "What're you doing?"

"I'm gonna break their goddamn little shit legs."

"Fenrir. Buddy. Come on."

Wolford bared his teeth for a moment, then relented, slamming the door closed again. "Yeah, fine," he muttered. "Lucky for them we've got bleeding-heart foxes on the force now."

The wolf buckled his seatbelt again and pulled out of the intersection. Neither said anything for a few minutes. Nick turned to look out the window, watching the potholes and broken-down buses and abandoned businesses and overgrown lots whisk past, one after another. This was home. He didn't recognize most of the faces on these streets--not anymore--but they looked near enough like the mammals he'd grown up with.

"You don't like other predators, huh?" Nick ventured finally. Wolford snorted.

"I'm a timber wolf," he said. "We work hard. Follow the rules. Serve our country, gladly and with distinction. You think we get recognition for it?"

"No," Nick hazarded.

"No," Wolford agreed. "As far as Zootopia's concerned, we're the same as the rest of these preds. Lazy criminals who can't be trusted. You know what that feels like?"

"Maybe," suggested Nick, ignoring the obvious opening, "your problem is with the prey animals. Who see us that way."

"Prey animals didn't break my window just now. Prey animals didn't put Hopps in the hospital. You're on the other side now, Wilde. You don't get to sit on the fence."

Nick said nothing. They drove in silence for a few moments.

"Listen," said Wolford, voice softening slightly. "We're not going to agree on this. But you want the people that busted up Hopps, right?"

"Of course."

"Good. Me too. Regardless of whether they're...anything else. Hopps is police. She's my pack. I've got your back on this, Wilde, no matter what. We've got common ground on that."

Nick's stomach tightened.

"Yes," he agreed. "We do."

"Whether or not you f-"

"Can you _STOP_."

\----

"Central, One-Zebra-Three is 10-15." Nick released the thumbswitch on the radio and flicked it off again. They'd just made it into the Rainforest District and spotted their warehouse on Marshland--an arch-roofed, rusted-out shack of a place, with no visible lights on. There was a light drizzle spattering the windshield of the Elkswagen--Wolford hadn't bothered with the wipers--and the area was blanketed in a thick silvery fog. Nick peered up and down, looking for pedestrians or moving vehicles. But the street was dead.

A few hundred feet from the warehouse, Wolford flicked off the headlights and put the MPV in neutral, coasting the rest of the way up. He spun the wheel to the right, coasting to a stop directly in front. The building looked no better up close and in person than it had from a distance or on the traffic cameras. Old, cobbled together out of sheet metal and rusted to hell, it didn't look long for the world. Facing the street was the large rolling metal door behind which their suspects' van had disappeared. Just to the left was a regular mammal-sized door with a metal handle.

The timber wolf was mouse-quiet as he put the car in park and gently eased in the emergency brake, unbuckling his seatbelt as the car's engine juddered to a stop. He lifted the Ramington from between the seats and looked at Nick.

"Ready?" he mouthed. Nick nodded. As silently as they could manage, they popped open the car doors and slipped out, padding up to the warehouse entrance. The wet gravel of the driveway crunched softly under their paws. Nick had his pistol out and ready as they drew to a stop. Nick tried the handle.

The door was unlocked. Good news, as far as making a silent entry. A mixed blessing, if it meant armed suspects were inside. Wolford raised his eyebrows in silent question, and Nick nodded. The wolf nodded back, hefting the Ramington. Nick twisted the handle softly and pushed. The door swung open without complaint. Wolford went in first, shotgun braced against his shoulder. Nick followed, gun up.

It was surprisingly dry, and unsurprisingly very dark. There were no lights on inside; only a bit of diffuse, clouded-over sunlight filtered in from some industrial windows near the ceiling. Nick stared into the darkness for a moment, letting his natural nocturnal vision adjust--

\--and there was the Econolion, looming out of the shadows of the central room of the warehouse. Nick released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He and Wolford split, circling the van to the left and right.

"Clear," Nick called.

A few glances in the front and back windows of the van revealed it to be empty, and further searches of a few side offices also came up dry. Out the back door was a few hundred square feet of fenced-off dirt, with a bit of garbage piled in the corners. Also empty. Nick tempered disappointment with relief--on some level, he wanted to be the one to catch up to the animals who'd done what they did to his partner, but he was still a small, marginally fit fox who wasn't quite sure what he would do if he did. So they returned to the van. Gray, as described. The plates were missing. Nick wasn't sure if they'd been stolen and discarded, or never there. The van was locked, but Nick was dexterous and well-practiced with a slim jim--Wolford was quietly smug about this--and they quickly had it open.

Nick holstered his gun, pulled on gloves, and clambered onto the driver's seat while the wolf kept cautious watch. There was fear scent on the seats, presumably wolverine--Nick hadn't run into many--and cigarette butts on the floor. The glovebox and door side pockets had a few loose papers. He paged through them, looking for identifying information, but nothing seemed immediately useful. He was about to hop back out when a tiny flash of color caught his eye. Something was peeking out from under the driver's side floor mat.

Gingerly lifting the mat, he pulled out what turned out to be a Zootopia Central Library card. Expired in 2004, but--

"Hey, Wolford. Might have one of our guys here."

Wolford peered at the card. "Library card for 'Gulo Karnovsky?' If this is a hot van, this could be anyone's."

Nick smirked. "Wolverine name."

"Okay, whatever you say."

They padded around to the back doors of the van, pulled them open, and Nick stopped dead.

A wave of Bengal tiger scent hit him full force, and suddenly he was back in the intersection, firing uselessly as his partner was tossed around like a limp sack of carrots. His breath caught in his throat. Anger, as deep and sincere as he'd ever felt it, roiled up from the very bottom of his stomach, through his throat and into his ears, where it burned hotly. His vision swam.

Wolford clapped him on the back. "I smell it too, guy. Let's keep going. We're gonna get these fuckers."

Nick breathed shallowly for a moment, letting the wave break and recede, then nodded and continued.

The back of the van yielded little. A few clumps of white fur and some bright green bits of fuzz left from the tranquilizer darts, but no needles, nothing that could point them towards a suspect. It looked like Karnovsky was all they had to go on. Exhaling, Nick jumped down off the back bumper of the van, when the warehouse door burst open.

There were two animals there: a slender female arctic fox, and a burly wolverine. The wolverine's left hand was on the fox's shoulder. In his right hand was a wicked black crowbar.

"Who the fuck are you?" growled Karnovsky.

The anger flashed again. Nick snapped his gun up, paws shaking.

"Police! Hands in the air!"

Karnovsky could have put his hands up. If he had, maybe things would have gone differently. Maybe they wouldn't have. Maybe it didn't matter. Karnovsky didn't put his hands up. Instead, he shoved the arctic fox hard, pushing her away and out of the line of fire. He took a step forward. Immediately, Wolford's 870 thundered in Nick's right ear. Nick squeezed off two rounds from his own weapon, reflexively. Karnovsky jerked back and crumpled in the doorway, crowbar already on the warehouse floor.

Wolf was on wolverine in an instant, kicking him in the ribs and kneeling on him to pummel his face. The arctic fox leapt onto Wolford's back, mouth open--screaming, probably, though Nick was hearing nothing but the steady whine of tinnitus. He holstered his gun and ran forward to pull the smaller fox off his partner. She thrashed and kicked his shins, tried to bite at his forearm.

" _STOP_!" he snarled at the back of her head, starting to hear his own voice again. It was hoarse and breaking. "Stop fucking _FIGHTING_."

"You _assholes_ ," she yelled. "Stop _hitting_ him, he's not even--"

Wolford was still on Karnovsky, kneeing him in the chest and pounding his face. Karnovsky wasn't moving.

"Wolford," Nick called, still struggling to keep a grip on the arctic fox. She was strong, and very angry. " _FENRIR_. He's _done_."

The wolf backed off, and got to his feet, knees of his khakis splattered with blood.

"Shouldn't have tried to sit up. He would've done worse to us, Wilde."

Abruptly, the arctic fox stopped thrashing. Tried to twist her head to look at Nick.

"...Nick?"

He let her go. She turned around and faced him.

_Oh, shit._

"Hey, uh, Rev."

She slapped him, hard, leaving hot red claw marks from his ear to the base of his snout.

\----

She hadn't spoken to him after that. After they'd cuffed her, she'd knelt by Karnovsky, talking to him softly and reassuringly until the ambulance arrived. After that, she'd sat quietly, glaring at Nick until Fangmeyer and Delgato arrived in a marked cruiser to book her. Nick, for his part, had steadily avoided her gaze. It was something of a relief when she was finally gone.

They stood outside, fur damp from the light rain, as the distant sirens of more cruisers drew nearer. The warehouse doorway was spattered with wolverine blood. The vengeful part of Nick wasn't entirely sorry that things had played out the way they did, but it had been ugly. It hadn't been clean. He wished Rev hadn't been there. He dabbed at the claw marks on his snout with a disinfectant wipe.

"One down," said Wolford. "Or two, maybe. You gonna tell me who that was?"

"Rev. Uh, Reinhardt," Nick answered. "We were neighbors. Went to the same high school."

"Aaaand?" Wolford waggled his eyebrows obscenely.

Nick rolled his eyes. "No. I mean, once, for a week. But that was dumb kid shit. We were good friends."

"And then?"

Nick searched his memory. It was a long time ago, now.

"We...drifted apart. I was, y'know, doing crimes. She wanted to go to medical school. We stopped hanging out. It wasn't that acrimonious."

" _Medical_ school?" Wolford repeated derisively. "What happened?"

"No idea. We've been out of touch." Nick paused. "Higher education isn't particularly hospitable to, you know. Us foxes."

"Oh, so she bitched out?"

"You're so thoughtful and empathic, Fenrir. That's what I really love about you."

"And you're a whiny sneak, Wilde."

The radio crackled from their vehicle.

"Central to One-Zebra-Three, tell Wilde to call the watch commander, over."

Wolford leaned in and picked up the handset.

"One-Zebra-Three roger. Better call in, Wilde."

Nick fished his phone out of his pocket and clicked off the airplane setting. He and Judy had made it a point of caution after it'd nearly betrayed them at Cliffside Asylum. He scrolled and dialed.

"Higgins," came the answer on the second ring.

"Hey, it's Wilde. Heard you were missing my dulcet tones."

"Yeah," Higgins said stonily. "Bogo said to tell you, Hopps is out of surgery."

Nick's breath caught, all the chaos of the past hour tumbling into the backmost recesses of his mind.

"Yeah? How's she doing?"

"Good. Gonna be allowing visitors in an hour or so. In case you haven't taken your lunch break."

Nick was too busy beaming to reply. Higgins hung up anyway.


	7. The Rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick goes to see Judy. It doesn't go nearly as planned.

The two backup units had arrived more or less simultaneously, wheeling on to Marshland from opposite directions with practiced precision. Wolford took a long, easy step into the street to wave them down, and his body language was clear--it's over. The sirens choked off and the cruisers rolled to a stop in front of the warehouse. Fangmeyer and Delgato emerged from one, two jaguars Nick didn't recognize from the other.

"How we doing?" asked Fangmeyer as she padded toward them, one claw resting cavalierly on her holster.

"Peachy," said Wolford. "Suspects got the jump on us and we had to put one down. Even Wilde got a couple in."

Fangmeyer laughed and cuffed Nick on the shoulder. "Nice one, rookie."

Nick set his teeth together. Knowing Judy had made it through the night, relief was still foremost in his mind. But the stakes were lower, now, and the gravity of what had happened was beginning to tug on him. Nick remembered Karnovsky, goddamn Karnovsky, raising the crowbar--would he have gone after the two officers? It might be too late to know, now. Nick had been angry at the wolverine for his part in everything, but shooting down a getaway driver meant little with the attacker still at large. If Karnovsky didn't make it through the night, they could lose their best lead.

Heads turned to Rev, still sitting in the gravel driveway by the warehouse door, still ignoring them. Nick knew the arctic fox, even if what little remained of their old friendship had been blown apart a few minutes prior. If she had anything to do with the robbery--and he suspected she didn't--she sure as hell wouldn't be talking now. He very nearly felt bad about it.

Delgato knelt and hauled the little fox to her feet by the shoulder, steering her toward Fangmeyer's cruiser.

"Hey, Delgato," Nick called. "Go easy for me, yeah?" The big lion shrugged and gestured into the cruiser.

"Fuck you, Nick," Rev yelled back as Delgato helped her into the back seat. "Fuck y-"

The door slammed across her face. Wolford snorted. "So chivalrous," he observed. "You see where it gets you?"

"Wilde's a gentleman," said Fangmeyer, ruffling Nick's ears--not, he thought, entirely uncondescendingly. He flinched at the touch, then smirked widely at Wolford in the hopes he hadn't noticed. "I'll need statements from you two."

The tiger interviewed them--first Wolford, then Nick--taking care to record a clear chronology in her notebook. The Delgato and the two leopards listened in, taking notes for their own reports. Nick gave the best account he could, up until--

"Did Mister Karnovsky move to attack you?"

"I'm...not sure."

Fangmeyer raised her eyebrows meaningfully. "You're not _sure_?"

"I--he...had a crowbar," Nick said. "He was coming toward us."

She nodded and scribbled something in. They continued until that manner until, seemingly satisfied, Fangmeyer snapped the notebook shut.

"All right," Wolford said, slapping his paws together. "I need to wrap the rest of this up. And Wilde," he gestured to the fox, here, "needs to go see his rabbit."

One of the jaguar officers cleared her throat. "We can take him," she offered.

Nick started to protest. "I can just Zuber--"

"Thanks, Tezca," Wolford interrupted. "Go on ahead, Wilde. I'll tie this off."

Nick dipped his snout graciously with a half-grin. "Thanks, Fenrir."

"Told you, fox. You're pack now."

The fox ruminated on that as two big cats he'd never met led him to their car, to go see his best friend in the hospital. They even let him make a quick stop along the way.

\----

The back doors of the ZPD cruisers could, reasonably, not be opened from the inside. Even so, Nick felt another twinge of gratitude as the big jaguar held the door open for him as he hopped down onto the pavement of the hospital parking lot, clutching his new acquisition.

"Thanks," he said. "For, you know, the ride and the--"

She put out two big paws. "Seriously, no sweat. It was on the way."

"Well, I appreciate it."

"Hey," she said. Tezca, right?"

"Yup. And Paola."

" _Thanks, Paola_ ," Nick yelled back into the car.

"Whatever," came the reply. "Y'all are both saps."

"Bite me, partner."

"What, in front of the fox?"

Nick's eyebrows raised momentarily before he plastered his smirk back up. Tezca laughed and winked implicatorily. 

"Time to go. Catch you around, Wilde." She slammed his door for him before padding back around the cruiser and hopping in.

Nick took a step back and up onto the curb and clutched the paper bundle to him as the car rumbled to life.

He watched the two jaguar women roll off toward the main entrance, and his stomach tightened. This was it. He wasn't fully sure what he was going to see when he stepped into Judy's room. Wasn't sure if he was ready. As much as he could manage, the fox had lost himself in his work for the past two days. He was good at that--burying the awful coalescence of fear, worry, heartbreak, loneliness and whatever else beneath a cocksure facade and a dedication to whatever it was he happened to be doing. And it had worked well, before he met Judy--worked less well, with her, for reasons he hadn't quite sorted out yet. Still, he'd managed.

Nick sucked a breath through his teeth and headed toward the big megafauna-sized automatic doors. It took a bit of waving and ignominious hopping before they registered his presence and slid open. He loped in toward the reception desk.

"Welcome back, Officer Wilde," came a voice from his right.

Startled, Nick looked over at the face of the porcupine whose head he'd nearly bitten off the other day. Heat rose in his ears.

"Hey, uh, uh." He glanced down, eyes searching for a name tag as he steered toward her. "Marta. I--sorry about, you know. Before. That was..."

"A long way from the worst I've seen," she assured him with a weary smile. "You should see the ones who try to put hands on me. That never ends well for anybody."

"At least they get to stay," Nick remarked. That earned him a real laugh.

"Chief Bogo phoned ahead, said we should expect you. If you'll follow me?"

She led him through a pair of doors and into a byzantine labyrinth of sterile corridors. Mammals hustled up and down the hallways. Smells of scented cleaning agents and pure alcohol wafted in and out of rooms and around corners. A cacophony of hushed murmurs and the soft beeping of a hundred life support machines permeated the fox's sensitive ears at every turn. People were probably dying, somewhere. He hated hospitals.

"How's she doing?" Nick asked eventually.

"Lots of breaks and a concussion, so she's not going anywhere for a while."

"They said she was in surgery."

"Collapsed lung," said the porcupine. Nick winced. "They wrapped that up around five this morning. She's been sleeping it off."

"Is she...is she safe?"

"You should hear it from the doctor, not me. But...I think so. She's pretty badly concussed, so they want to keep an eye on her."

That should have eased some of the tension. She wasn't dying. That was good. Ideal, really. The porcupine wheeled them to the right down another hallway, this one full of curtained-off doorways into patient rooms.

"She's just up here, Officer."

Nick nodded, even though the attendant wasn't looking at him. It was about all he could manage. His throat was closing up, claws clutching the wrapped paper of his gift too tightly. They came to a stop in front of a drawn khaki curtain. Room 218, said a sign. He wasn't sure why it surprised him that it looked exactly like all the other rooms.

"Right here," said the porcupine, in a low voice. She gestured him closer, and he leaned in.

"Miss Hopps," she whispered, "is putting on a very brave face, but it's likely she's in a lot of pain. Try to keep your voice down and let her sleep if she needs to."

He nodded vigorously. "No problem."

"You have an hour. I'll be in this hall, so come find me or ring the buzzer if you need anything."

"Thank you."

"Oh," she added, glancing at his paw. "There's a vase for your flowers on the table by the window."

He looked at the curtain, and back at the attendant.

"Go ahead," she said, smiling encouragingly. "It's okay."

Nick went ahead. Pushing the curtain aside just enough to slip around it--sneaking, almost, out of habit--he entered the room. He let the curtain drop behind him, and he was alone.

The room was nice enough--clean and orderly, with sunlight nipping around the edges of closed blinds, diffuse light bouncing around to lend the whole room a soft yellow glow. In the middle of the room was a large bed--scaled for mid-sized mammals, most likely, but lowered down as far as it could go. Lots of equipment around it, bulky, illuminated, armored in pebbled beige plastic. Nick didn't know what any of it did. In the middle of the bed, almost lost between a pair of fluffy white pillows, was Judy.

His heart leapt, and stumbled, and steadied itself. She was dressed in a lilac hospital gown, with electrode cables snacking around and under the light fabric. Her whole right side looked in poor shape, from what he could see: a head bandage pinning down one ear while the other lolled across the pillow, and her right arm wrapped up in a sling. Under the gown, it looked like, her torso was bandaged up to the arms. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing shallowly.

Nick pressed his lips together. He walked, as softly as he could manage, to the window. There was indeed an vase there, next to a stack of boring magazines, neatly fanned out like a deck of cards, and a King Richard bible. The vase was halfway filled with water already.

He began to unwrap the flowers--violet carnations, the color of Judy's eyes, not that he noticed things like that. Doing it quietly proved to be an impossible task, as the paper filled the room with earsplitting scrapes and crackles. Cringing involuntarily, he withdrew the bouquet and slipped it into the vase.

"Nick."

His ears pricked up. It was Judy's voice, of course, but thinner and hoarser, and somehow smaller. Ordinarily she filled rooms, through sheer force of personality.

"You brought me flowers."

He looked over. She hadn't moved, but her eyes were cracked open and gazing at him sleepily.

"I did bring you flowers."

"That's..." she broke off, coughed. Winced horribly. "...A good start. Wilde." She gave him an exaggerated, crusty wink.

"These are 'get well' flowers," he clarified. "Not 'I'm trying to get in your pants,' flowers."

"It's just as well," she said, then raised a paw to her mouth, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They're not letting me wear pants."

"You're the worst," he informed her. "I don't know why I even came here."

"'Cause you _like_ me."

"You're delirious," he scoffed. "I just had to check on my dead partner."

Judy grinned loopily. "I'm not dead, stupid. Come over here."

He padded over and hoisted himself gently onto the bed, so as not to bounce her around. She reached out with her good left paw to clutch at the top of his. As he settled in, though, her smile wavered and fell into a look of discomfiture.

"Nick?" she said, eyeing his duty belt. "What's that?"

"Let's maybe talk about that later, Carrots."

Her head shot up from the pillow, and she winced again. "Wait, _wait_ ," she slurred, seemingly fighting her way through a painkiller-induced haze. Angry, too. "Don't _blow me off_ , Nick Wilde. You have a, a _gun_? I thought we agreed we weren't going to carry those."

" _You_ said that, Carrots," he said, getting annoyed. "That was your thing."

"And you _agreed_."

"Yeah, well, things changed." He was still trying to keep his voice down, stage-whispering through his teeth.

" _What_? What _changed_?"

"Well, you made a stupid-ass decision, for one thing--" Nick started.

"I made a--"

"And you put me in a position where I _couldn't_ keep you safe, which is why you're here," he finished, glaring at her.

"You couldn't-- _Nick_."

He took a breath. "Look, let's talk about this later, Fluff."

"No, hang on, we're talking about it _now_ ," Judy snapped. "It wasn't a...a  _stupid-ass decision_."

"You ran toward a _tiger_ ,"

"There was a family in danger!"

"You nearly _DIED_."

" _NICK_!" she practically shouted. The fox's ears flattened as he shrunk back momentarily. Judy paused for breath--chest heaving, shallowly, drawing lots of little breaths through her broken ribs. She let out a small cry of pain, and a guilty dagger twisted in the fox's gut. He grabbed for her paw, and squeezed it, mumbling frantic apologies. She squeezed back, screwing her eyes shut for a moment until her breathing slowed.

"Nick," she started again.

"I'm sorry," he breathed.

"I'm fine. Listen." She kept her paw in his, but her voice was hard and steady. "Nick. I know you care about me a lot. As a friend, and, I don't know, maybe more even if you're too chicken to take me out like a gentleman."

"Hey--"

"But," she interrupted. "I came to this city to help people. And protect people. Everyone I can."

"Even if it means--"

"Even if it means," she said, looking him straight in the eye, "that I don't make it to retirement. Because that's who I _am_. That's what I came here to do. I know it's stupid. I know it's not _safe_ , Nick. I heard that from my parents for _fifteen years_. I don't need to hear it from you."

"I just wanted to--"

"So don't you _DARE_ ever tell me not to, Nick. If you want a bunny you can protect and keep safe every day, then...then you should _pick a different bunny_."

Judy lapsed into silence again, breathing more softly this time. Nick stared at her for a moment, feeling struck. She glared back defiantly.

"Should," he offered, "should I go?"

The rabbit sighed, withdrawing her paw.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe."

"Okay," he said, sliding himself down off the bed. "Sure."

"Wait."

Nick turned back toward her, feeling a tiny paw on his forearm. He knelt by the bed, bringing his head level with her own. "Carrots?"

"Wait. Don't go. Stay here. Just...shut up. Just shut up because you're an idiot."

The fox settled his long muzzle down next to her, nestling it among the sheets.

"Hey," she said, putting a paw on his cheek. "You got scratched up."

"A little."

"Does it hurt?"

"Rabbit, half your bones are broken."

"Yeah, but I'm not a baby like you."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Still mad at you, so be quiet."

Nick's mind was still swimming with retorts and counter-arguments. The bunny was wrong, and reckless, and too brave by half, and even dumber still. But then Judy's paw found his head, and began stroking and scratching around his ears in loose, dazed little motions. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation, and the fires in his belly began to die down. The argument would keep. For now, she was here, and little else seemed to matter.

She continued steadily for another several minutes. Nick felt her breathing slow, gradually, before her strokes grew languid and erratic. Eventually her paw fell still between his ears. He kept still, not wanting to disturb her, and momentarily, gurgling little rabbit snores became discernible. A small smile worked its way up his snout.

Judy slept for the remainder of his allotted hour, but that was fine. He didn't move from his spot. Marta had to draw him away by the paw.


	8. The Red Cross & The Blue Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nick attempts to do the right thing, once he figures out what it is.

It was difficult, leaving Judy in an hour of need. Even more difficult to break away from the physical closeness they’d shared. It was a new thing between them--Nick and Judy had hugged, grasped at one another’s paws more or less platonically in times of distress. The opportunity to put an arm around the rabbit’s shoulder or waist had occasioned itself from time to time, at which point she would always draw nearer, pressing up against him in a way that had always left him a little uncertain as to what they meant to one another.

The last hour had been something altogether less ambiguous, with a degree of unguarded tenderness they’d never quite managed around each other. Made all the more exceptional by the fact that Judy was, in fact, very angry with him. Maybe it was because they’d now broached the subject (clumsily, but still) of dating, or because the chance to ever be so close had nearly been snatched away from them forever. Maybe it was both. Regardless, removing his head from beneath that tiny sleeping paw had been one of the hardest things he’d done in weeks. Not least because the tiny rabbit would probably be angry at him again when she woke up.

Judy didn’t stir, though, and he promised himself to return as soon as he could possibly manage. Regardless of the consequences.

"Sorry to intrude on that," said the porcupine orderly as she walked Nick back to the lobby. Then, conspiratorially, "you two are cute together, though."

Nick squinted at her. "What is that, a professional assessment?"

"No, making visitors uncomfortable is my hobby. Keeps them from bothering the patients too much."

Nick snorted obligingly. “We’re not, you know. A thing.”

"That’s a shame. She's a sweet kid. And pretty." said the porcupine.

"Sure is. Too good for me."

“So get gooder,” Marta laughed. "Is she mad at you?"

"How d--yes."

"You deserve it?"

"Uh." Nick paused, still a little flat-footed. "I don't think so."

"Ah.” Marta nodded with affected sagaciousness. “You deserve it."

The fox’s ears flicked back irritably. "Oh, you can tell?"

"You already know it, you just don't  _ know _ you do yet."

"Well, thanks for that. I'm Officer Hopps has a fortune cookie looking after her."

She smirked. They reached the lobby doors, and Marta held them open for him.

The Hoppses were there--Judy's parents, grandfather, and assorted others crammed into the waiting seats and couches. Stu turned and started slightly at the sight of Nick, before a look of mortification overtook him.

"Hey...there, son," he managed.

"Howdy," Nick replied flatly.

"I, well, didn't expect to, uh."

"He's sorry about before," Bonnie interrupted. "We both are. Those things we said--"

Nick raised a paw, shaking his head. "I'm not angry. I've heard worse."

"Yes, but--"

"You said what you think. I'll accept an apology, Mrs. Hopps," said the fox, "if and when I prove you wrong. Not before."

Bonnie put a paw to her mouth.

"Anyway," Nick added, turning between Bonnie and Stu, "you should go see your daughter. I'm going to go take down the mammal responsible for this. See ya, Marta."

Judy called it the Nick Wilde maneuver--the swift exit in the face of a difficult discussion behind a smokescreen of charisma. As he swept out the door, he even managed to flip on his sunglasses without poking himself in the eye.

\----

The next morning, Nick arrived at the station in reasonably good spirits. He'd spent the remainder of the previous day catching up on reports, and the relief of knowing Judy was out of danger--acrimonious visit notwithstanding--allowed him the best sleep he'd had in days. The fact that he'd slept through his alarm and managed to arrive only fifteen minutes late was, he felt, just another feather in his illustrious cap.

The look on Clawhauser's face when Nick walked through the doors took the wind out of his sails, but quick.

"Hey Nick, Bogo--"

"Wants to see me, huh."

"Yeah. Yep. Uh-huh."

"No problem," Nick said breezily. "On my way up."

As he sauntered over to the elevator, the fox sensed a presence behind him. Sure enough, as he stepped in and hit the button for floor two, a large canine paw reached in to hold the door, followed by two hard-faced wolves--Weiss and Luison, if Nick remembered right.

"Hey, fellas," Nick said with a wave. Luison gave him a lidded smile.

"Heya, Wilde."

Weiss watched the elevator doors slide closed, and hit the stop button. The machine lurched under their feet. Nick glanced between them.

"You know, if you boys wanted to suck face in here, you could have waited for the next one."

The white wolf chuckled. "You're a funny guy, Wilde. Actually, we wanted to talk to you."

"To congratulate you, actually," said Luison, as the two wolves stepped closer. "On taking down the wolverine. Any of us would have wanted the same for our partners."

"Thanks," said Nick. "I think." They were very tall.

"To be straight with you, Wilde--we haven't had good luck with foxes," said Weiss. "In general. Whether it's busting small time crooks or picking up streetwalkers. You know how it is."

"And so," Lusion picked up, "we hear there's a fox in the ZPD, we get a little nervous. And Hopps vouches for him, says he's great, he's loyal, he's trustworthy, so that's good. But she likes everybody, God bless her. That was our thinking, you know? We want to keep the pack."

"Uh," said Nick magnanimously.

Weiss nodded. "The point is, we were wrong. About you. Wolford's talking you up--says you're real pack material."

"So, in case we were unbrotherly with you before--" Luison offered a paw. "--welcome to the pack. Officially."

Nick shook Luison's paw, and Wolford's after.

Weiss set the elevator in motion again. "Wolford knows you've got his back, Wilde. Whatever happens."

_ Whatever happens? _

The doors opened, and Lusion all but pushed Nick out of the elevator.

"Catch you around, fox."

"Sure," said Nick. "See ya."

The two wolves vanished again as the doors slid shut in front of them.

Nick cocked his head, not entirely sure what to make of their conversation. Weiss and Luison  _ had _ been largely unfriendly toward him in the many months he'd been at the ZPD, and they'd told him what he'd have liked to hear. Still, he couldn't shake a feeling of unease. It felt like he'd been hustled.

He arrived, regardless, at Bogo's office door. He raised a paw to knock--

"Come in."

Nick went in.

Bogo was not, as was his usual custom, feigning engrossment in some file or other as the fox entered the room. Instead, Bogo watched him intently as he made his way from the door to the big chair.

"Have a seat."

Nick clambered up and sat, bushy tail curling involuntarily around his dangling ankles.

Nick's eyes darted down. There was a single large, conspicuous manila envelope on Bogo's desk. The looseness of the twine fastening suggested it had been opened once already. He looked back at Bogo. The chief was gazing at him intently--not with the usual wrathful facade, but a look much more serious.

"Am I in trouble, sir?" Nick blurted in spite of himself.

Bogo exhaled through his nose. "That remains to be seen. I have been examining the reports of yesterday's  _ incident _ ."

Nick swallowed.

"Officer Wilde, I'd like to ask for your assessment of Officer Wolford's conduct during the apprehension of Gulo Karnovsky."

Nick's stomach twisted into a knot and slithered down into his pelvis. The puzzle pieces of Weiss and Luison clicked neatly into place. Nick was belatedly offended. He was an ex-crook--he, of all people, understood a code of silence.

Bogo was waiting for an answer. "In what sense, sir?" Nick evaded.

"Officer Wolford has been known to express hostile opinions about predators."

Nick feigned surprise. "Isn't he a predator, sir?"

"Don't give me the bloody runaround, Wilde."

"He's...an officer of strong convictions, sir."

"Diplomatically put. Do you feel that Officer Wolford's  _ convictions _ may have influenced the actions he took against Mr. Karnovsky?"

"I couldn't speculate on his thoughts, sir."

"Did Officer Wolford shoot Gulo Karnovsky?"

"I--believe so, yes sir."

"Did you shoot Gulo Karnovsky?"

Nick straightened. "Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"We felt there was an immediate danger to our safety."

Bogo leaned forward. "Did you, personally, feel this way?"

"I--what?"

"Or, Wilde, did you discharge your weapon because Officer Wolford had just discharged his?"

Nick opened his mouth to deny it--

"Are you aware, Officer Wilde, that Wolford's report claims Karnovsky was warned twice to drop his weapon before he was shot? Do you recall that happening?"

"I'm sure Officer Wolford is correct, sir."

" _ Do you recall that happening _ ?"

Nick shook his head, microscopically. "I don't...personally recall one way or the other, sir. Truthfully."

The cape buffalo let out a massive, weary sigh, and turned his attention--at last--to the manila envelope. He unspooled the string fastener and opened the flap. Nick caught a glimpse of glossy photo paper as Bogo flipped the envelope around.

"You know we have computers for this, sir--"

The fox's snout snapped shut as the chief slid a large photo across the table toward him. A massive photo, actually, clearly sized for a nearsighted buffalo. A photo of Karnovsky, in the doorway of the warehouse. Taken from the dash camera of Wolford's Elkswagen.

"Note the timestamp," Bogo rumbled. "And how, subsequently--" he pushed across a second huge photo. "--Mr. Karnovsky appears to drop his crowbar." 

Nick looked at the photo, a quiet dread beginning to wash its way downward from his amygdala. Karnovsky hadn't dropped the crowbar.

Had he?

Bogo withdrew a third photo from the envelope, gazing at it impassively for a moment before passing it to Nick.

There was blood in this one. A vulpine nose wrinkled in a wince.

"Yes, the money shot," confirmed the buffalo. "If you'll again note the timestamp, you'll see that this is just over zero point eight seconds after Mr. Karnovsky appeared to drop his weapon."

The dread had passed through Nick's shoulders by now, and taken up residence in the southernmost reaches of his gut. He realized his usual mask had slipped, too, as he found himself looking back at Bogo with a look of open horror.

“All this is troubling to me, Wilde. I'm sure I don't need to tell you why. But mistakes happen, especially under pressure. I am not prepared to cast aspersions on that basis. Though internal affairs might see it differently. Hypothetically speaking.”

The fox nodded dumbly.

“What is more troubling, Wilde, is this.” Bogo reached back into the manila envelope, easing out another set of pictures, sliding the set across the desk.

They all showed the same thing.

“I come to my point, Officer,” the chief continued. “I am not here to tell you that this is a potential PR disaster, or a lawsuit waiting to happen. I am here to tell you that this--”

He jabbed a keratinous digit down on the top photo. Officer Wolford was straddling a bloodied and defenseless wolverine, beating him in the face. Officer Wilde was close at hand, holding a screaming vixen’s arms behind her back.

“--is unacceptable.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nick tried to force his eyes over the pictures. To really look at Karnovsky, injured and terrified. And at the screaming vixen who wasn't a screaming vixen, who was  _ Rev _ . Rev who he'd traded tapes with and who'd smoked him out behind the art classrooms. And the hard-eyed fox officer grasping her roughly.

It was harder, seeing it from the outside.

The huge bull sat back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger.

“I've heard it said,” Bogo continued, “that ten percent of my officers will do the right thing, regardless of circumstance, regardless of who is watching. I believe your partner is one of them.”

Nick felt a small flutter of pride, in spite of the circumstances--Judy would have been over the moon at such a compliment.

“Another ten percent,” Bogo went on, “will abuse the trust of the mammals they serve, frequently if not whenever possible. They see themselves as combatants in a war against the citizenry. Or, rather, certain parts of the citizenry.”

Bogo let the implication hang in the air for a moment. The buffalo new better than to lecture a fox about species discrimination.

“The remaining eighty percent, it is  _ said _ , can go either way. Depending on who they are working with on any given day.”

Bogo began gathering the photos back together, collating them neatly and tapping them together against the desk before returning them to the envelope.

“Wolford is a good officer,” he said eventually. “He's got more guts than most, he’s unfailingly loyal to his fellows, and he's closed more cases than half the department put together. And there is no one I’d rather have on scene when officers’ lives are in danger.”

“It was an honor to--”

“He is also,” Bogo interrupted, “a complete and total bastard.”

“To--what?”

“He hates predators, despises prey. Despises anyone not ZPD, for that matter. Might as well be a bloody gang member.”

“Well, sir, I’ve given you my opinion, so if there’s nothing more--”

“Sit  _ DOWN _ , Wilde.”

With great effort, Nick returned to his seat, half-surprised to find he’d gotten up in the first place.

“This force is full of bruisers. TUSK. We have guns. Big trucks. Plate armor. We are eminently capable of violence, Wilde. It is very  _ easy  _ for us to  _ kill _ .”

Bogo slammed a massive hoof down on the desk to punctuate, causing Nick to flinch back involuntarily.

“The ZPD doesn't need  _ reinforcements _ . We don't need another Wolford,” Bogo said softly, catching Nick's eye. “But we could use another Hopps.”

“I can't be that, sir.”

“You’re closer than you think, fox.”

Nick looked down at his paws--no, his claws. It was far more of a compliment than he deserved. But--he thought back to the obnoxious porcupine at the hospital--it might be worth living up to. He drew a long breath, looking Bogo straight in the eye.

“You were mistaken, sir, earlier. I didn't shoot Karnovsky because Officer Wolford did.”

A beat. The chief held his gaze.

“No?”

“No, sir. I did it because I was angry.”

Bogo’s expression didn't change, but there was something--a flicker of sadness, maybe, in the eyes--that prompted Nick to continue.

“I was angry about Hopps. I'm still angry. I--I wanted to hurt the people who did that to her, chief. She didn't...of all the mammals. She didn't--”

“Deserve it, I know.”

“Sir, I shouldn't have been part of this investigation.”

“I know that too.”

“Then...why?”

The buffalo sighed, finally breaking the gaze. Looking, for once, slightly embarrassed. “Because I was angry too.”

“You were?”

It was a stupid question, Nick realized before it had even left his mouth. But Bogo didn't seem to notice.

“Yes. I knew what it meant to send a grieving fox and a cop like Wolford into Happytown after something like that. But I was angry. Angry that someone would try that with one of ours. Angrier that it was Hopps. I wanted to send a message.”

The buffalo turned to eye the half-time ZPD shield adorning the wall behind his desk.

“I may owe  _ you _ an apology, Wilde.”

Nick considered that.

“I wouldn't accept it, sir.”

“No?”

“I swore an oath to the city. How I feel, or...or whether you expected me to fuck up, sir, it doesn’t matter to the public trust.”

“That’s an honorable sentiment.”

“It should be more than that,” Nick insisted. “If there are consequences to be paid, I’ll pay them.”

“And if it costs you your badge?”

Nick’s heart lurched. He ignored it. “Then that’s what it costs.”

Bogo stared, then burst out laughing. Nick frowned; it was not the reaction he’d been expecting.

“May I ask what’s funny, sir?”

“Hopps,” said the buffalo, shaking his head ruefully, “couldn’t just bring me an honest fox. She had to make him the most honorable officer in the whole damn precinct.”

Nick grinned involuntarily. “She really is insufferable, sir.”

“All right, get out of here, Wilde,” said Bogo, pulling a desk drawer open and tossing the manila envelope into it. “Your badge is safe. You have permission to go back to acting like a smug jackass.”

“Permission appreciated, sir.”

Nick hopped off his chair and nearly made it to the door.

“Wilde.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Rhea’s Cafe on Acacia serves the best carrot souffle in the city. In case that means anything to you.”


	9. The Vixen & The Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick visits his old friend in jail, and Bogo rakes someone over the coals.

The air in the Zootopia Central Jail was hot, and muggy, and recycled; but before that, it stunk. Smells of urine, sweat and vomit, already offensive enough to a fox’s nose, intermingled into something altogether oppressive. Angry shouts and delirious ravings echoed up and down the cell block. A stoat across the way was shouting something lascivious.

In spite of all this, and a hard cot, Rev Reinhardt was just beginning to doze off. She'd been here two days, or thereabouts--two days since a turncoat friend had thrown her in the back of a police cruiser and had her hauled off here. Two days in which she'd seen none of the fox and altogether too much of a thuggish, irascible wolf who’d seemed determined to browbeat--or possibly just beat, if it came to that--as confession out of her.

So when the jangle of fumbled keys rattled its way into her brain, she came fully awake expecting it to be Wolford, back for another round of kick-the-vixen. Rev glanced over at the cell door lazily, betraying no fear or discomfiture.

It wasn't Officer Wolford. It was worse.

Nick Wilde fumbled with the key for a moment longer--it was a big steel thing, not meant for small vulpine paws to operate--before slotting it into the lock and clunking the door open.

As he entered, she noticed his posture was not what she remembered--the slouch was gone, his shoulders were squared and he walked with a quiet purpose. The face, though, was classic Nick Wilde: a studied neutrality with a subtle coloring of confidence.

It was all affectation, Rev knew. The only thing in his face was the three claw marks she'd given him, unbandaged and scabbed over. She'd gotten him better than she realized. Though it had been a surprise that he'd been able to restrain her at all--they’d fought, physically, from time to time as kits, and she'd always won handily. Nick Wilde had always been soft in mind, body, and heart. She didn't see that ever changing.

But he'd gotten good at pretending.

“I apologize for your extended stay here,” he said coolly.

“Nothing I haven't seen before,  _ Nick _ .”

“I wasn't aware they were still holding you.”

Rev spat on the ground. “Like I’m going to believe that.”

“I wasn't.”

“If you didn't know it was because you didn't  _ want _ to know, Nick. You were always real good at not facing difficult shit.”

“I'm facing it now,” he answered simply. “I'm getting you out of here.”

He wasn't rising to the bait yet. Annoying.

“What, are you gonna be the good cop?” she bit out. “Don't do me any favors. Why don't you shine a light in my face and push me around like your friend the wolf? Call me a dumb vixen slut? He didn't even know I was dumb enough to sleep with you. I'm giving you freebies here,  _ Nicky _ .”

He gazed at her for a moment. “You want a lawyer?”

She laughed. “The fuck do I need a lawyer for? I didn’t  _ do  _ anything. I don't  _ know _ anything.”

“That's not how--”

“Don’t tell me how it  _ works _ . You still never been arrested? They get you an attorney. Attorney comes in late. You say you didn't do it. Attorney says 'sure you didn't, fox.Your best bet is to just play ball with them. You'll get a lighter sentence.’”

“Rev--”

“What are you  _ doing _ here, Nick? Did you forget high school? Did you forget when your ZPD broke my wrist for standing on the sidewalk too long? You remember what they did to you for telling them not to? How many times did they pull over your mother?”

A quiet hurt flickered across his face. Good. She was getting to him.

“You're not doing the  _ right thing _ , Nick. You idiot. You're not working for the forces of  _ good _ , or whatever the hell it is you tell yourself. You're just another scared kit who thought maybe if he beat and shot the right people, Zootopia would grant him a waiver from being a fucking predator.”

He looked mad now.

“How's that working out for you, Nick? People respect you now? People treat you like an upstanding member of the community? Out of uniform?”

“No,” he snapped suddenly.

“No?”

“No. Since you asked. I still get followed in stores. I still get kicked by rhinos. That's the answer to your question.”

“So--”

“So now you're going to answer mine. You’re going to tell me what's  _ good _ about robbing corner stores. And hurting people. Tell me why the most honest, kindest mammal I have ever  _ known _ is in the hospital right now. Tell me what's good about  _ that _ .”

Rev felt a little flat-footed, all of a sudden. This was a Nick she wasn't used to. “The bunny made a dumb mistake,” she flailed weakly.

“The fuck she  _ did _ , Rev. I went and talked to her, when they were sure she wasn't about to  _ die _ because of what your friends did. You know what she told me? That she would do the same thing again in a second.”

“Nick, look--”

“She was protecting a  _ child _ , Rev. Your buddies made her choose between her life and a kit's. She chose.”

She stared at the floor so he couldn't see the tears starting to well up.

“So,” said Nick. “You still want to lecture me about doing good?”

She opened her mouth to answer, not sure what she was going to say. A small sob came out instead.

In the periphery of her vision she saw Nick start slightly, begin to reach a paw in her direction before catching himself.

“Rev?” he asked again, softer this time.

“He didn't want to do it,” she said, finally. “Gulo, he--he was scared. Needed the money. Sada didn't really give him a choice.”

“Sada? The bengal?”

The vixen nodded dumbly. She hadn't intended to give him anything. But the walls were down.

“Can you tell me anything about Sada?”

“I don't know. I never knew his last name. Gulo was scared of him. I think he was...unstable. Lived in Tundratown, somewhere.I don't--”

Tears were coming, again. She looked up at Nick, and it was a different Nick than the one who'd stepped into the cell. The quiet, gentle Nick whom she’d seen all too little of in their short lifetimes. The one she’d once thought she could have something more with, before he'd thrown the walls up again and pushed her out.

Nick sat on the cot next to her. They both stared at their feet for a long while.

“I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch,” he said finally.

“What happened to us, Nicky?” she asked him, smiling weakly. “We were as thick as thieves.”

“We were thieves, Rev.”

“Hey, not all the time,” she laughed. “But...yeah. Sometimes.”

More silence.

“You just kind of drifted away,” she said.

“I guess I did. I was following the money, you know? And you were in school.”

“Ugh, yeah. Don't talk to me about higher education.”

“I'm sorry about...how things went, Rev. With Gulo. It wasn't supposed to happen. I hope you can believe me.”

“Yeah. Whatever. I guess.”

He gave her a look.

“Okay, Nick, I believe you.”

“Thanks.”

“Listen, Gulo was--is--an asshole. I should have stayed away from him. But...”

She halted, gathering herself again. Nick, wisely, said nothing.

“But,” she continued. “He was sorry about the bunny.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really sorry. It kept him up at night.”

Nick seemed to consider that.

“You're going to hate me,” he began.

“I've always hated you, Nick.”

“But, uh. How sorry is he? Can you--”

“Ugh, you're such a  _ cop.  _ He's still in recovery.”

“But you’ll talk to him.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure. You gonna let me out now?”

“Give me an hour,” he said, standing and making his way to the cell door--left ajar, in what was almost certainly a breach of protocol. “Oh, and Rev--”

“Yeah?”

“We should catch up. Later. When this is all over.”

She shrugged. The old Nick Wilde, the one she'd known, wouldn't have meant it. It would have been empty patter he'd never follow up on.

But, who knew?

“Sure.”

\----

“--unacceptable,” Bogo said for the second time that day jabbing a finger toward the photo printouts. “All of it. Tail to tip. This confrontation was provoked, escalated, and blown to shit by your and Officer Wilde's actions.”

The timber wolf seated in front of him said nothing, holding the chief’s gaze with a low-grade, defiance.

“In recognition of your long service with this department, I will invite you to offer an explanation.”

There was no change in Wolford's countenance, but he answered immediately. “As far as I'm concerned,  _ sir _ , when someone is attacking police officers in this city, my job is to make sure it doesn't happen again. We got the guy.”

“You did not  _ get the guy _ ,” Bogo spat. “The  _ guy _ is still at  _ large _ , while the only thing you've managed to do is put a  _ possible _ accessory in intensive care and, apparently, traumatize his girlfriend.”

Wolford snorted. “Traumatized? The vixen? She's a Happytown bicycle. She’s seen worse. Sir.”

Bogo eyed the wolf. “I hope,” he said, “that I don't need to be concerned about her safety in our custody.”

Wolford showed his teeth. “I don't beat on females.”

“That's about halfway to the answer I was looking for,” the buffalo said acidly.

“Just so we understand each other, sir.”

There was a long moment where they continued to stare at each other--Bogo with more open hostility, of course, as was his prerogative. The buffalo had met few mammals whom he could not cow--no, H.R. said that word was a no-go--or intimidate through sheer physical menace. Judy Hopps had been one. Now, Fenrir Wolford was fast becoming another.

Which, regrettably, left the force of institutional power.

“You’ve been good police, Wolford,” Bogo rumbled. “I don't like to see that change. But I will dismiss you in a  _ second _ if you give me further cause.”

“With respect, sir, I'm not changing.”

Bogo raised an eyebrow fractionally, emboldening the wolf to continue.

“You’ve been around, chief. You know what this city was like. We brought it to  _ heel _ . We were the reason this city could exist, predator and prey, eyes undimmed, all of that kumbaya shit. I’ve spent fifteen years standing between this city and the type of shit that happens when  _ you _ put bunny farm girls on patrols and send  _ us  _ to pick up the pieces _.  _ Seems like you don't even have my back doing  _ that _ .”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I send you to make  _ arrests _ , wolf, not gun unarmed citizens down on their own damn property.”

“ _ Unarmed _ \--listen, sir, this is the language they speak. I always thought Hopps was a liability. But if we don’t answer this, then it’s the next ones up the food chain. Maybe it’s her fox buddy getting scraped off the sidewalk. Pretty soon people people start realizing ZPD lives don’t amount to much. And then none of us are safe, chief. Not from these animals.”

“Keeping the predators in line, are we?”

Wolford’s lips curled. “I don’t know what that fox told you. But--”

Bogo snorted over him. “Wilde gave me  _ nothing _ . Practically fell on his sword for you, even. You didn’t need to set Weiss and Luison on him.”

The wolf’s ears twitched. As good as an admission, and he surely knew it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Bogo said, sliding the envelope of photos in circles with a hoof. “But you’re being damned insubordinate considering there’s enough in this folder for an indictment. If I have to revisit this again-- _ ever-- _ it will be the last time.”

There was a beat, as the wolf’s eyes flicked between the chief’s face and the envelope. Cornered. He nodded, eventually. “Sir.”

“Just so we understand each other.” Bogo picked up the envelope and shuffed it into a drawer theatrically. “Dismissed.”

As Wolford padded out of the office, Bogo aimed a death glare at the back of his head. And tried to ignore the festering feeling of disquiet in his own gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a short chapter with two new POV characters. Next chapter will be a big one, so stay tuned :)


	10. The Hunt, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Wolford return to the field, to their mutual annoyance.

Rev had come through. They had a name for their remaining suspect--Sada Basu--and a location.

For decades, one of the most remarkable features of the city of Zootopia had been its massive climate wall, allowing the desert and arctic climates of Sahara Square and Tundra Town to coexist adjacently. Long an irritant the the environmental lobby, the massive wall, fitted with the largest air conditioners ever constructed, was nonetheless considered an engineering miracle, and a tourist destination in and of itself. Mammals arriving in the city by train were treated up close to a display that rivaled the most elaborate pyrotechnics or air shows--snow blowers hundreds of feet high, coupled with red-hot exhaust that caused the air to ripple like water. The base of the wall was a no-mammal’s-land, an undeveloped expanse of icy forests on one side and searing dunes on the other. Slightly further out were the extreme weather precincts--nearly-but-not-quite-inhospitable, and home to some of the roughest neighborhoods in Zootopia.

Glacier Heights was one such neighborhood--perpetually snowed-in and nearly frozen, perched at the top of a three hundred foot snowbank (and surrounded by a chain-link fence at the behest of the city after the fifth fatal fall in as many years). The tiny outpost had little to offer besides a decent pancake diner and a cathouse with central heating. If nothing else, residents could say, the rents were low. And it was a place mammals could go to disappear--provided they could make it through the nights.

The neighborhood was also virtually inaccessible--the only road access was a single two-lane blacktop that snaked and zig-zagged precariously up the side of the snowbank. The road was steep, littered with eroded snow piles and patches of ice. Merely reaching Glacier Heights by car was a challenge. Doing so in large numbers--say, a fleet of police cruisers--without giving ten minutes’ advance notice to the town’s inhabitants was downright impossible.

In short, a perfect place for their wayward tiger to go to ground.

Nick Wilde shivered and hugged his arms around himself, never more grateful for the faded green windbreaker and knit cap that was tugged over his head and ignominiously forcing his ears down to the sides. He was riding shotgun--literally, as it happened--as Wolford guided their twenty-year-old confiscated van up the side of the embankment. Nick risked a peek out the window, down the cavalcade of treacherous switchbacks, and tried not to imagine what might happen if they spun out on a corner, or part of the embankment gave way (something Lionheart's transportation commissioner had assured the city would never happen. Again). Bogo would have to fish their frozen bodies out of a van marked “Mammal Movers” at the bottom of the river. It wasn't the way Nick had hoped to go, although what with the various van-adjacent misadventures in his past life, it wouldn't have been out of the question.

Fortunately, Wolford was a better driver than Finnick, taking the switchbacks in low gear, with enough speed to carry them through the steep turns without losing control. The wolf was quiet, too, his normal abrasiveness much diminished, and his eyes fixedly on the road.

It would have been a welcome change if not for those subtle canine hints--ears ticked back a few degrees, a harsher scent--that Wolford was not all good underneath. His posture was tense, too, paws gripping the wheel too tightly. Nick wasn’t sure if it was the circumstances--the looming possibility of catching up to the real guilty party--or Wolford’s whispered-of meeting with Bogo, from which he’d reportedly emerged looking like a kicked puppy. Maybe both. Even Nick, who could run his mouth better than anyone, knew better than to press. Still, though--

“Hey, Fenrir.”

“What?”

“What do you call an elephant in a phone booth?”

“What.”

“Stuck.”

Wolford didn't laugh.

“That's a good joke, Wilde.”

“Sorry, buddy. Usually has 'em howling.”

Nick allowed a pregnant pause, gazing at Wolford with a shit-eating grin on his muzzle.

“Howling,” he repeated, “because--”

“I get it.”

“Okay.”

They were silent again as the van juddered its way around the final switchback and past the chain fence into the town proper. Wolford located a parking space and deftly eased them into it, while Nick thumbed on the radio.

“One-Zebra-Three is 10-97, central. Just about ready to begin that sweep.”

“All good, Zebra-Three. Air One is standing by.”

Air One was one of the half dozen helicopters maintained by the ZPD. They'd gotten authorization to fly it here, expensive as it was. But the thudding roar of a police helicopter over a tiny enclave would be a bit too conspicuous, so Air One sat warming its engines on a pad a few minutes away. Like the rest of Nick and Wolford's backup, just a little too far for comfort. But they had orders, and they'd make do with what help they had.

“Copy, central. Zebra-Three going wireless.”

He clicked off the radio entirely, stuffing it into the glovebox where it'd be out of sight, then put a paw to the ruff of fur around his throat. There was a tiny wireless lavalier mic clipped there, carefully hidden under layers of fur. A receiver was nestled deep at the base of his ear, tuned to their operational channel.

Nick clicked on his lavalier mic and watched Wolford to the same. They were now broadcasting every word back to Central, so colorful bickering was discouraged.

It was starting to snow

“You look like a cop, Fenrir,” Nick said, unable to resist, as they unbuckled and shoulder-checked their doors open.

Wolford ignored him.

“I'm serious, bud. You're too old to wear a baseball cap backward. You look like a cop.”

The radio crackled. "This is Mobile One," came a coolly measured voice. "Turn your hat around, Wolford."

Wolford snorted, blasting a cloud of vapor, and yanked the hat around. Lieutenant Azzaby was the field commander on this operation, sitting in an operations trailer at the foot of the hill, and Nick's new partner knew better than to back-talk him.

"We hear you, Mobile One," Nick returned, since Wolford was sulking.

The main thoroughfare, Tioga Street, calved off from the access road and ran parallel for a single block before rejoining it. There were few buildings to speak of in Glacier Heights--a number of small houses, a gas and general goods store, a suspicious-looking motel, and a dive bar. At the far end of the street was chain fence about ten feet high, with a padlocked gate. On the other side of the gate was a shack marked "Ken's Snowmobile Rental," which appeared to have only one snowmobile. Any mammal suicidal enough to ride out into the frozen forest beneath the climate wall was welcome to it, Nick decided.

The dive bar was simultaneously their best and worst option, in Nick's estimation--somewhere the tiger might indeed be, but also the most likely to send wagging tongues throughout the town if two canids showed up asking nosy questions. The inn, which was almost certainly a cathouse, seemed a better place to start. Attempted murderers had to sleep somewhere.

"Let's check out that bar over there," Wolford decided. Nick rolled his eyes, but the other officer was many years his senior on the force. The fox nodded and followed down the sidewalk, adopting the slinking gait he'd used so much as a street hustler, that Judy had spent months trying to train him out of. He'd learned to affect the straight-backed swagger of the bigger cops, but it was easy enough for the fox to slip out of. Wolford couldn't seem to avoid walking like a beat cop.

They passed a few mammals on the street, so bundled-up as to be barely recognizable by species. Not tigers. Hats, scarves and fur were beginning to collect a layer of snow. Nick brushed at his jacket, prompting a choked curse from the radio as one of his paws swatted too near the hidden microphone.

"Sorry," he whispered.

The dive bar--"The Bear's Cave," according to the sign--looked old and impossibly sturdy, built from massive cuts of lumber. It was well insulated, too--something Nick noticed as they hustled through the large door and out of the snow.

The second thing he noticed was that it was well-frequented--maybe two dozen rough-looking mammals were seated at the bar and at tables. A surly-looking she-wolf stood behind the bar, wiping glasses with a thoroughly dirty apron. She gave the two an appraising glance as they approached the bar, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

"Give me a Cloven," muttered Wolford. The bartender nodded and raised her eyebrows at Nick. He scanned the menu.

"Just give me...can I get the salted crickets?"

"No."

Nick forced down a laugh at the refusal. "No?"

"We're out," she said. "We have drinks."

"Maybe in a bit." He flashed her his most ingratiating smile.

Wolford got his drink and they found a table by the window, with a good view of the door and the other customers. They carried on some light conversation--mainly Nick needling the wolf about his taste for prey-branded beers--while surreptitiously scanning the room.

The clientele skewed heavily predator--a mix of bears, wolves, raccoons, and a couple of scarred old foxes. The two officers weren't as conspicuous here as they would have been in some neighborhoods.

"It's in the name, Cloven, Fen--"

"It's got *cloves* in it," Wolford grumbled.

"Okay, first of all, that's disgusting. Second of all--do you have a piece of paper?"

Wolford rummaged in his jacket pocket and pulled out a scrap, sliding it to Nick's beckoning paw.

"Second of all," Nick continued, searching his own jacket for a pen, "it's a pun. On, you know, hooves--how can you not get that."

"Not every name in this goddamn city is a pun on something, Wilde. What are you writing?"

Nick was, in fact, writing "what times your shift end," and drawing a little winking fox face. He spun the paper toward his partner.

"That's not nice," Wolford said, face twisting.

"Maybe I think she's charming," Nick argued. "Or is it the miscegenation you're worried about?"

"You're a slimeball."

"I know." Nick winked as he folded the note inside a pair of twenties. "I'm gonna go get a White Fang. You know, a drink for predators."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's been a sticking point, so I decided to break it in half instead of leaving the story un-updated indefinitely.


	11. The Hunt, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Wolford catch a break. Nick catches one or two other things*.

The she-wolf manning the bar didn't look up as Nick stood up and made his way back towards her, slithering his way unobtrusively between occupied tables. He could feel the eyes of others on him, though--the fox and his partner were strangers in a den of thieves, not going to pass unnoticed. But there was no sense breaking cover; Officer Wolford may have raised suspicions, but with any luck Nick's superior thespianism could allay them.

Nick sidled up to the bar and leaned a puff-jacketed elbow on it, trying out another roguish smile on the bartender. She gazed at him flatly.

"Gimme a White Fang."

A nod. She turned to pour it, and Nick fingered the cash-wrapped note in his jacket pocket. She didn't much like him, that much was clear. Natural charm and a big smile rarely failed the fox, but money was the great equalizer. Usually.

A thick, old-fashioned glass mug banged down on the bar in front of him, sloshing foam carelessly onto his paw. Shaking off the foam conspicuously, he withdrew the money with his other and set it just between him and the bartender, hopefully out of sight of the patrons.

"You closing your friend's tab?" she asked suspiciously, palming the money.

"Nah," Nick said with a conspiratorial wink, before taking a big swig of the drink she'd given him.

The wolf rolled her eyes and looked down, counting out the tip under the bar. Nick caught her eyebrows raise fractionally as she found his note, and arranged his face into something sly and unworried as she looked back at him coldly.

"I just serve drinks here," she said. "The kind of business you're looking for is across the street. Or are you worried your mother might be working tonight?"

Only twenty-five years of enduring foxist remarks kept his smile from slipping. It was only the ones about his mother that still stung him. He raised his paws slightly, pads-out.

"Nothing so untoward," he assured the wolf. "I was just hoping to talk." He lowered his voice. "Have some questions that need answering."

She blinked and cocked her head in an expression of confirmed suspicions. _Shit._

"This ain't that type of town," she said evenly, eyes hard. "Try coming with warrants next time." Then, in a dry mockery of his hushed tones: "...or a less obvious partner."

A dozen quips jumped to the tip of Nick's tongue in quick succession, but he swallowed them down. She was almost certainly sure they were cops, but she might still be fishing. He was still undercover, and it was better not to give her anything for free. He let her sit for a moment while he finished the last third of his beer in one long sip, before setting it back down and pushing away from the bar.

"Thanks for the drink."

Her mouth twitched in a microscopic smile. A grudging respect, perhaps, that the fox cop wasn't stupid enough to let her bait him.

Wolford was still sullenly nursing his Cloven as Nick returned to their table.

"How we doing, Casanova?"

Nick shook his head and leaned in, careful to keep his voice down. "She's as good as made us. Probably not the only one in here who has."

Wolford bit his lip, eyeing his partner. Something on his face suggested he held Nick responsible, but he mercifully decided not to press it. "Probably should get moving, then."

Nick nodded. "Before word gets back to our tiger."

Wolford's beer unfinished, the two canids made their way to the door as quickly as they could without appearing to beat a hasty retreat. Too many eyes were on them.

The cold was a hard slap in the face as they emerged from The Bear's Cave. A sharp wind had joined the snowfall, and little gusts sent the snow whirling one way and another. Nick shook flakes off his whiskers. A vague sense of anxiety was beginning to thrum in the pit of his stomach. They might not have room for another mistake here.

"Let's check out the inn across the street," Wolford decided. "Looks like a brothel, so we can probably use that as leverage if they don't wanna talk."

"Subtle," Nick muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

They started across the street--jay-walking, maybe, but there was little evidence of crosswalks on the snow-covered road. Another gust of wind battered from the front, and Nick turned his head to keep snow out of his face. By chance, his gaze fell on the general store further up the street.

Maybe it was an animal. Maybe it was the snow whipping across his vision just so--the daytime eyesight of a fox was nothing to brag about. But something, _something_ triggered a response in his hindbrain before vanishing.

"Fenrir," he said, still searching the store windows. "I saw something."

Wolford stopped. "Saw what?"

"In the general store."

"Saw _what_?"

"Don't know. Maybe nothing."

Wolford looked at him. "Fine. Let's go."

The radio clicked on. "Nice and easy, Zebra-Three."

"Thanks, mom," Wolford bit back.

They crossed all the way to the inn and spent a moment perusing the posted rates before continuing casually up the street towards the general store.

"We going inside?" Nick questioned.

"Let's see what we see."

They drew nearer to the store and Nick felt the thrum of anxiety coalescing into a sharp thudding in his chest. Basu had nearly killed Judy, and he, Nick Wilde, wasn't much bigger--not to mention older, his body less durable. He wondered if, had he been in Judy's place, she would have been able to visit him in the hospital at all.

As they arrived in front of the storefront, Nick scanned the interior. There was no one inside that he could see, save for a small arctic rabbit at the register. He wondered, with an unusual flicker of embarrassment, if that was all that had caught his eye. But they were here now, and there wasn't anything further up the street but an empty lot, a private residence, and the snowmobile rental shack.

"Should we take a look?" Nick asked again.

The wolf hissed through his teeth. "You did want those salted crickets earlier."

There was a jangle of bells as they pushed the glass door open, and the rabbit cashier jumped nearly out of her skin.

"Sorry about that," said Nick, giving her his warmest con-man smile. "Should have knocked."

"We don't bite," leered Wolford, to Nick's quiet distaste.

The rabbit just stared at them, wide-eyed, her nose twitching uncontrollably. She looked ready to bolt. Nick's stomach turned--the sight conjured memories of his ugliest moments with Judy, coupled with shades of guilt for holding on to those memories to begin with.

But--as with the bartender, feelings and hurt were a luxury he couldn't afford at the moment. This bunny wasn't his bunny, and her apparent terror seemed inapropros, given the town's overwhelming predator majority.

"You okay?" asked Wolford, apparently thinking along the same lines. "He can't be the first fox you've seen."

It seemed like a good opportunity to amble around the store. He hit the selection of snacks first, and found it picked clean--no salted crickets here, either. There was a pair of coffee machines and paper cups, though. Nick considered--he was about as on-edge as he needed to be. On the other paw, it was freezing. He compromised and poured himself a decaf. The half-and-half carton next to the brewer was empty, so he rounded the corner to the dairy freezer.

Nick paused. It was cleared out. Frozen entrees and alcohol in the neighboring cabinets were well-stocked, but milk, cream and eggs were completely gone. He squinted at the odd bit of happenstance.

"Hey," he called back to the register. "You got any milk? Cream? For coffee? Your freezer's emptied out."

There was no answer, so he made his way back to the front, coffee in paw. The bunny watched him come up, her nose still twitching, breathing visibly.

Nick pointed to his cup. "Milk? For this?"

"W-we--" she started to stammer in a small voice. "No--no delivery. Didn't get milk." Her eyes darted briefly to the door to the back room behind her. With languid obviousness, Nick followed her gaze to the door.

For all his unsubtlety, Wolford could spot an angle. "My buddy here really likes milk in his coffee," he wheedled. "Are you sure you haven't got any somewhere?

Maybe in the back?"

She opened her mouth, drawing a few ragged breaths before speaking. 

"I'm sorry but--"

There was a clatter of metal from the back room.

She rabbit froze, going--somehow--even whiter.

Nick and Wolford looked at each other. The wolf inclined his head in the direction of the sound.

The two officers started forward, rounding the corner toward the back door. The white rabbit moved to intercept them, voice breaking in stammered arguments.

"Look, you can't--you can't--"

Nick reached into his jacket and flashed a badge as they brushed past, but it seemed to be no reassurance. Her words choked into a series of panicked squeaks.

"No, no, no..."

The door was a free-swinging kitchen type that gave easily, slamming back on its hinges as Wolford banged it open.

They rounded the corner and the Sada Basu was there, standing frozen in the shadows. The white tiger looked twice as large in the cramped confines of the back room as he had on the streets of Savannah Central. Up close, he looked bad--thin, for his size, sick or malnourished. His fur was patchy and matted. His right claw clutched a large canvas carry bag.

In the tiger's right claw, held around the body, was an elderly white rabbit.

_Shit._

"Shit," Nick said.

Wolford was hauling his gun out when Basu moved, electing to hurl the old rabbit at the two cops. The bunny careened off Wolford's gun arm with a scream, sending his aim wide before knocking Nick to the floor. Taking the opportunity, Basu smashed through a side door with his shoulder, fleeing down the hallway.

The wolf recovered fast, giving pursuit and shouting a location into his microphone. Nick scrambled up shortly after, but paused to check on the old rabbit--quivering, terrorized, but seemingly unhurt.

"You all right?"

The rabbit's head jerked in an approximate nod. Satisfied, Nick dove headlong through the shattered doorway, paws skidding on the linoleum floor. The hallway was nearly pitch black, but he caught a glimpse of a gray tail vanishing around a corner and followed.

It was a side exit, and Nick burst back out into the frigid light of the street just as Air One roared directly overhead in a low pass, rotor wash sending snowflakes into a tornado. Wolford was already making tracks up the street after Basu, who was heading uphill, away from the access road. Frowning, Nick gave chase. There was nothing in that direction except for the barbed wire fence, and the treeline, and--God, shit--the snowmobile.

The fox cursed himself for missing such an obvious clue when they'd had the luxury to look for them. Wolford was yelling for Basu to stop, but the tiger kept running. Angling slightly left, he ran straight up the front of a parked pickup and, from there, onto the porch roof of the house beside it. Sprinting along the overhang, Basu took a stunning leap--far beyond Nick or Wolford's capabilities--and cleared the barbed wire atop the fence, landing hard on all fours in the snow beyond.

Basu was kickstarting the snowmobile as Nick and Wolford reached the fence. Someone was shouting electronically in their ears, the radio cutting in and out intermittently.

"--bra-Three, Air One has to pull out, no visibility--repeat, unsafe conditi--"

Wolford swore viciously and clicked his mic off. Nick began to ask why, but he saw the wolf raising his gun.

Of all things, Nick Wilde could not be called a simple fox. At any given moment, his head might have half a dozen thoughts crashing through--some the purview of his better angels, others the demons of fear, avarice, and carnality. Lately there had been more than a few thoughts of revenge. But at this moment, one voice--perhaps not even his own--rose loud and clear above the others.

_No._

Nick was almost too late, shoving Wolford's gun arm down and away from the fleeing bengal. The gun went off anyway, nearly drowned in the roar of Basu's snowmobile as he kicked up a plume of snow and sped toward the treeline.

Wolford snarled, yanking uselessly at the fence gate. Padlocked. Shooting the lock off only worked in movies. They were stuck.

The wolf rounded on Nick, lifting the smaller fox bodily by the collar of his parka and slamming him against the fence. Nick allowed it, light as paper in Wolford's grip--

"Stupid fucking _fox_ ,"

Light as--

"Wolford."

"You coward fucking--"

" _Wolford!_ " 

" _What?_ "

"Throw me over."

"You're kidding me--"

"Throw me _over_."

Wolford, to his credit, didn't ask twice. He released Nick, let him turn around, grabbed his jacket and belt in each paw. Nick felt his feet leave the ground, heard the wolf cursing again under his breath as he swung back for the windup--

And then Nick was airborne. It was an impressive throw, all things considered--far outside the realm of Wolford's police training, with no preparation or forethought.

It was probably the best Nick should have hoped for. It was not, however, what anyone would call an unqualified success.

Nick sailed nearly over the barbed wire before his foot--just a hair too low in his tumbling arc--snagged in one of the loops. He felt a searing pain as the wire ensnared him, sending him flipping over the fence to slam against the metal links. More pain and he was suddenly falling again.

There was a new type of pain as he thudded into the permafrost on his left side. He shrugged it off, staggering to his feet. He looked down. Blood was staining the snow around his right hindpaw.

"Wilde! You good?"

 _Fine, no thanks to you,_ he thought at Wolford, who probably didn't deserve it.

Basu's snowmobile track led off into the treeline. Nick started to limp after it, offering his partner a thumbs-up over the shoulder.

The snow had become a full-on blizzard by now, and it wasn't long before Wolford's shrinking form--yelling into his lavalier and searching for a way around the fence--was lost in the white haze. Nick pressed forward into the trees, leaving a one-sided trail of bloody footprints as he went. Basu couldn't keep heading this direction, even on a vehicle--there was nothing further except frozen snowbanks and, eventually, the impassable climate wall.

The trail left by the bike was rapidly refilling with snow, but Nick kept pushing, determined to figure out which way Basu was headed, if nothing else. The tiger was flushed out of hiding, but if they lost him now they might never find him again. He was alive, and angry, and going to prove...something, probably. A dark, low shape began to coalesce in front of him. Nick frowned as he approached it--the snowmobile?

It was. The vehicle was abandoned, crashed into a snow-masked ravine and seemingly too damaged or stuck to continue. A pile of disturbed snow suggested the bengal had scrambled up the other side of the ravine, and Nick followed. But on flat ground, Basu's prints were too shallow to see, already filled in by the whirling snow.

Which meant Basu was out here. Somewhere.

_Fuck._

He pulled his lavalier mic free of his parka, vaguely aware he hadn't heard anything over his radio.

"Mobile One, this is Zebra-Three, Wilde--lost contact with suspect, headed South toward climate wall. Suspect crashed snowmobile and abandoned. Unsure of location. South of Glacier Heights, over."

There was no answer. Nick tripped on an unseen tree root and stumbled forward onto his front paws, catching sight of the blood-spattered snow around his feet.

"Fuck," he whimpered aloud. Trying to stand on numb feet, he stumbled again. Heart racing. Pushing himself to a half-standing position, he glanced around the trees, vision blurry.

Nick had always hated forests. Everything out here looked the same. He had no idea where he was. Basu's trail was long gone. But the bloody trail of an injured police fox wasn't going away any time soon. Swearing and blinking back tears, he reached for his jacket zipper with shaking paws, unzipped it to clumsily draw his gun. If Basu wanted to take him, he wasn't going to make it any easier.

He clutched the weapon desperately for what felt like hours, slowly turning in place and trying to keep his eyes on every direction at once. He wondered if he should have let Wolford shoot Basu down. If that would even have worked. If they should have aimed for the snowmobile, or if it was worth letting him go. He wondered if his mother would be all right--she wouldn't, of course. But Judy would take care of her, once she was better.

He wondered if Judy would be all right without him. This was all her fault, of course, for leading him down this path of idiot bravery and idealism. That much he didn't regret. The fox smiled to himself, looking down his muzzle at the snow collecting on it.

Beyond his nose, there was a huge, dark figure moving toward him.

Nick felt a twinge of fear, but it was distant and irrelevant. He'd felt everything there was to feel by now. He raised his gun, calmly--

" _WILDE_ ," came a booming, authoritative voice. " _Put the gun down._ "

He knew that voice. He obeyed. Tigers didn't have horns, anyway.

More shapes materialized behind the chief--Lieutenant Azzaby, a trim gazelle in a police foul weather jacket, Wolford, and the handful of armed TUSK officers light enough to navigate the heavy snowfall. One of them was muttering into a radio pawset--one of the heavy, obvious, vintage models that actually worked--as the others fanned out to surround the fallen officer.

Someone plucked the gun from his paw. Despite the noise, he was beginning to drift off.

\----

" _Psst._ "

Nick awoke in an unfamiliar room. Mostly dark, with a few gentle indirect lights around the edges of the ceiling. A warm, itchy blanket over him. Lots of beige contraptions. A needle in his arm. One of those places with doctors, then. Had he hurt his footpaw that badly?

He twitched it, and his whole leg screamed with pain. Probably a yes.

" _Psst,_ " came the voice again, insistently.

He shifted, half-rolling his aching body across the crackling paper sheets to look around. There was a clock on the wall reading _12:48 AM_. Nick wondered what day it was.

" _Psst,_ " repeated the voice. "Down here, stupid."

It was a nice voice. Blinking blearily, he looked down.

Judy Hopps was standing there, big feet poking out from beneath an oversized hospital gown, one arm in a sling. Grinning mischievously up at him.

"Hey, idiot," she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun, right? I spent the whole time writing this listening to the Bourne Supremacy soundtrack.
> 
> *The other two things Nick caught were tetanus and hypothermia.


	12. The Buffalo & The Gazelle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick visits the hospital, and the case catches a break.

 There was a _rabbit_ in Nick’s hospital room.

“ _Carrots?_ ”

“Keep your voice down,” she admonished. “The nurses will come tell me to go back to bed.”

“Sorry,” he whispered. “What’re you doing here?”

“I heard you were in my neck of the woods.” She bounced on her toes. “Thought I’d come see for myself.”

Nick winced. “Here I am,” he confirmed. “Mostly intact.”

The rabbit looked him over.

“Bogo says I’m a bad influence on you,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She grinned. “But he was smiling when he said it. Here, make space.”

She patted the side of his mattress and he scooted over, with some difficulty, allowing her to hop up next to him. In the process, the blanket slid off his bandaged footpaw. They both looked over at it.

“I guess I’m not too good at being you, Carrots.”

“Neither am I,” she admitted, wiggling her sling. He chuckled.

A beat. She scooted closer, bumping up against his side. Something in his stomach tingled.

“Hey,” he articulated.

“Hey,” she said, looking up at him. Then, softer, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” he said. “Hopps and Wilde. World’s worst cops.”

Judy turned and laughed into the sleeve of his hospital gown, so he ventured an arm around her shoulder. She snuggled closer.

“I should get hurt more often,” he mumbled.

“No,” she slurred, already falling asleep. “Don’t. Bad. Shut up.”

And then she was out like a light. It took her fox partner, considering the implications of this development, another ten minutes to join her.

\----

Nick was stirred awake by a discomfiting heat on his face. His eyes flickered open, and screwed shut again immediately--the mid-morning sun had found its way under the blinds and directly into his line of vision. He whined involuntarily.

“Oh, you're awake!" chirped a voice. "I thought maybe you'd died after all."

He squinted uncomfortably toward the sound. Judy was sitting cross-legged on the visitor's chair across the room, still beswathed in a hospital gown, with a department-issue laptop perched on her knees.

Nick's eyebrows twisted. "How'd you get a laptop?"

"Oh, this?" She looked at the machine as if seeing it for the first time. "It's yours. Bogo brought it."

"What are you--it has a password."

"I guessed it."

"Carrots, you can't just--"

"Yeah, 'carrots' is a bad password." She waved her good paw dismissively. "Don't worry, I'm not snooping."

"Not--you're on my computer."

She laughed. He huffed, but there was nothing to be done at this point.

"You didn't read any of the emails from my mom?"

"Just looking at case files. Promise."

"Fine," he grunted, slouching back into his pillow and letting his eyes fall shut again. It was too hot under the blankets, he was sweaty, and his bandage itched, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of seeing him get out of bed just yet.

"I got you coffee."

He didn't open his eyes. "Talk is cheap, Carrots."

The fox listened with amusement as Judy snorted. There was a plop of small feet against the linoleum, an indistinct shuffle, and then a pat-pat-pat as she drew nearer. He extended an open paw, and was soon rewarded by the feeling of cardboard sleeve against his pads.

Nick took a sip. "It's cold," he complained, even though he didn't care.

"You slept in."

"I almost died."

" _I_ almost died," she corrected him. " _You_ tripped on a fence."

“You know what everyone likes about you, Carrots? It's how kind and caring you are.”

She smirked. “You know better, though, don't you?”

Nick took a long, deliberate sip of coffee in lieu of an answer.

“Come on,” Judy urged. “The nurse said you would be okay to work today. You'll probably be able to walk by the end of the day.”

“I cannot believe this,” Nick sputtered. Inwardly, he was relieved to return to duty mostly unhurt. But it was the principle of the thing. “I thought I was a hero.”

“Maybe to everyone else,” she said. “I know better, though. Want to see what records scrounged up on Sada Basu?”

“Uh--” his brain shifted gears. He _did_ , very much, come to think of it. “Sure. Yes.”

“Great!” she chirped, practically bounding away to retrieve the laptop.

“We didn't get him, did we?” Nick asked.

“No,” said Judy. “Lieutenant Azzaby cordoned the area and had TUSK sweep it all the way to the wall. No tiger, no tracks.”

“Just a dumb fox.”

Judy had returned with the laptop and set it beside him so he could see, deftly jumping up after it.

“They did turn up that bag of stolen milk, near the fence,” she said. “What was that about, anyway?”

“I dunno,” Nick admitted. “Too many Clawla Deen specials?”

“Booo.” She batted at his shoulder. “So where'd he go? Trees?”

“Maybe,” Nick said. “I would assume Azzaby’s people were smart enough to look up.”

“Were  _you_?” she asked pointedly.

Nick stewed on that for a moment.

“...It was very scary out there. You're being unkind to me, Carrots.”

She laughed. “I'm saying it's possible. What about the wall?”

“What, could he get in?”

“Or up it.”

“No way,” Nick said with certainty. It's hundreds of feet of flat cement. You'd need climbing stuff, probably. Those metal things.”

“Pitons?”

“I guess. And rope. I didn't see him carrying anything like that.”

“Hmm.” She rubbed her forehead thoughtfully. “There's a lot of places he could go to ground in a forest. The snow masks embankments and windthrow.”

“Maybe he has a den,” Nick teased. “Like a _savage_.”

“Laugh it up, Wilde. Someone in Bunnyburrow actually did that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he used to be a software developer.  Decided to go back to nature. He lived in the forest for three years, burgling people's houses.”

“Oh my god. I've never even been camping.”

She looked at him in only half-feigned astonishment. “Such a city slicker! We’ll make an outdoorsfox out of you yet.”

He pursed his lips. “Maybe. So what else do you have on our guy?”

“Some criminal history,” she said, tapping her way through document pages. “A few drunk and disorderlies. Aggravated assault on another Bengal.”

“So, he's an asshole,” Nick remarked. “We have our motive.”

“Work history is long and inconsistent--”

“--like my sex life--”

“--God, shut up.”

“ _Language_ , Carrots. Ow.”

“He worked at Bugburga while he went to trade school, looks like. Industrial repairs--lots of short term contract work after that. Pawntiac, Reitherman, TEIL, Sh--”

“Wait,” Nick interrupted. “What’d he do at Reitherman?”

“It just says “on-site technician. Why?”

“Reitherman, partner, is a construction firm that specializes in megastructures.”

“Oh!” She brightened. “They built the Palm Hotel!”

He nodded, smirking. She'd spent years of her childhood obsessing over the city--it was only fair to let her take this one.

“And…?” he prompted. Tiny gray brows furrowed.

“The...oh, _crackers_.” She looked up at the fox. “The climate wall.”

He nodded. “Yup. And I don't know what an on-site technician does, but there are maintenance access doors every few hundred feet along the bottom of the wall.”

“That has to be where he--wait, Nick, why didn't you mention this before?”

“They're electronically locked. And reinforced steel,” he said, shrugging. “Not possible to get in there without the passcode.”

The bunny eyed him suspiciously.

“...which Finnick and I discovered in the course of our legitimate business ventures.”

“Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “So if Basu worked on the wall, he would have had a passcode?”

“Seems likely. Think I should call Wolford? Where is my phone, anyway?”

“Oh, um.” The rabbit glanced around the room, eyes falling on his crumpled clothes from the day before, left in a pile on a table in the corner. She went over to them and began to paw around searchingly.

“You know,” he began.

“Don't say it.”

“If you wanted to--”

“Do not--”

“--get in my pants--”

“NICK.”

A small knock came from the door.

“COME IN,” Judy said, probably more loudly than she'd intended.

A grey fox vixen in hospital uniform--the nurse, Nick assumed--stepped in. She seemed to sense she'd walked into something, but proceeded anyway.

“Officer Wilde, how are you feeling?"

“Underappreciated,” he said. “And my leg hurts.”

She smiled. “Well, I'm here to change your bandages, if that's all right. We can dose you with some painkillers, if you like.”

He inclined his head in a small shrug. “I’m good on the painkillers. Bandages, go right ahead.”

The vixen nodded and collected a roll of gauze from one of the many cabinet drawers around Nick’s bedside. Turning to him, she drew the blankets back from his injured footpaw and began gently unwrapping the bloodied material. Over her shoulder, Nick caught a glimpse of his partner glaring daggers at him before the rabbit returned her attentions to his doffed jeans and windbreaker.

“For what it's worth,” the nurse said quietly, “it means a lot. Seeing someone like us doing what you do. You're not so unappreciated.” The deep black malar stripes from her eyes to her nose masked her eyes somewhat--many mammals found them fairly sinister in foxes--but Nick could see a genuine gratefulness there.

The remark had just been a joke for Judy's benefit, really--he thought about saying as much. “Thanks,” he said instead. It rolled off the tongue easier.

Speaking of--his partner was slightly aggressively waving his phone under his nose. He accepted it. The nurse had busied herself again with his injury, wrapping a clean strip of gauze around the cut. He caught her eye.

"Hey, stripes." She looked up, embarrassed. "You know how long I'll be in here?"

She nodded, tying off the bandage. "Actually...we were going to release you immediately. You'll have to stay off that leg for a few days, but you're just about fixed."

"Perfect. How about my partner here, incidentally?"

"She's nearly there, too," said the nurse. "Probably would have been sooner if she didn't keep getting out of bed."

"I'm a citizen, _Sylvia_ ," Judy grumbled. "I have rights."

Nick heard a click from his phone and pressed it to his ear.

"Wolford,"

"Hey, Fenrir, it's me."

"Wilde," the wolf deadpanned. "Hey."

"Listen, Hopps and me were looking over Basu's records. I think we have something."

"Hopps? What is she--nevermind. What?"

"It looks like he worked maintenance on the climate wall not too long ago. He would have the keycode to the access doors at ground level."

The wolf hissed through his fangs on the other end.

"Okay. You think he's holed up in there?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

"I'd be at home with my wife and cubs," snorted Wolford. "I'll get in touch with the lieutenant. Rest up, Wilde. We’ll let you know how it turns out."

"Actually, I'm being discharged," Nick said quickly. "Could use a ride back to the station."

The line was quiet for a moment.

"We’re pretty tied up,” Wolford finally replied. “Maybe get a Zuber home. Take the day.”

“But--”

“You earned it, fox. See you next week?”

Wolford hung up. Nick glared at his phone screen in irritation before thumbing it off.

"'Zuber'?" echoed Judy.

"Zootopia's finest can't spare a cruiser to pick me up from Sick Jail," the fox groused. "Sounds like Wolford wants to tie this thing off before I'm back on duty."

"Yikes." Her nose twitched inquisitively. "Did you get that far under his fur?"

"Something like that."

She smirked. "Better get going, then."

"Stripes?" Nick called. Sylvia looked up from the clipboard she'd been scribbling on. "I need to get going. Think we can we expedite this?"

"Sure. I'll get your paperwork. Watch the bandage, if you want to get dressed."

The vixen padded out of the room and shut the door softly. Nick and Judy looked at each other.

"Carrots..."

"Hm?"

"Last time I was here. I wanted to say, you know. Sorry."

"For?"

"For...telling you not to do your job, I guess. I don't have that right."

She looked at her feet. "It's okay. I should have given you warning before I ran into the jaws of death." A small laugh. "Maybe we really are the world's worst cops."

"We'll get better," he suggested.

"Yeah."

"Carrots."

"Were you scared? When you went after him? When it happened?"

"I guess," she shrugged. Thought better of it. "Yes. But...sometimes, you have to do something. Because nobody else is going to do it, if you don't."

Nick nodded quietly. His partner stepped closer to his bedside and pinched forward the fabric of her hospital gown. There was a Junior ZPD sticker affixed to it that he'd missed earlier--peeling and lint-covered.

He raised his eyebrows in silent question.

"Bina and her mom came by, a few days ago. Rachel. They asked me to thank you, too, Nick. When I saw you again."

Judy really was not quick to tears, Nick had learned, but he could tell she was welling up now.

"I hate it here, Nick. It's creepy and quiet and there's nothing to do and everything hurts and I miss you and I miss Clawhauser and...everyone. But." She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing out the wetness. "When I saw Rachel's face, I felt like...um."

"Like?"

"I'd fight a dozen more tigers, Nick. If it meant keeping kits like that safe."

Nick nodded, and reached out an arm. Judy stepped forward into the embrace, bumping a forehead against his ribcage. Nick chuckled.

"What?!" she demanded, without looking up.

"You're such a fucking hero, Carrots."

"Aww."

He released her. "All right, move. I need to get up."

Nick pulled the blankets aside and turned himself so that his legs dangled over the side of the bed. Setting his teeth, he pushed off onto the floor, testing his weight against his cut paw.

He gasped slightly from the pain, and Judy put her paws out reflexively, as if to catch him. He waved her off, and began limping his way over to his clothes.

"I think you're supposed to have crutches," commented the rabbit. Nick shrugged. He lifted up his pants by the belt, patting around for the wallet. Still in there. He glanced over his shoulder.

"Turn around, Carrots."

"Right. Sorry."

He slipped out of the gown and began to climb his way into the pants--the bad leg he did first, while standing. The second was more of a struggle. The fox sank awkwardly to the floor and rolled onto his back, worming the slacks back on. Help would have been nice, he imagined, as he clutched the table to pull himself back up.

In fact--

"Hey, Carrots."

"Yes?"

"You wanna get dinner someplace?"

Her ears twitched toward him, but she had the presence of mind not to turn around. Which probably would have made this weird.

"You can't ask me out with no pants on."

"I can't win," he said, wrestling his shirt over his head. "Last I heard, you wanted to know why I hadn't asked you."

"Yeah," she acknowledged. "You were being an idiot?"

"And now?"

"Still an idiot." He could hear the smile in her voice. "But less so."

"Is that a yes? You can turn around now."

"I don't know," she demurred, walking over to the fox. "I'm in the hospital. And you look like a wreck."

"I mean," he objected, "we're both in the hospital."

There was a tentative knock. Judy glanced toward the door, then back at Nick. Tie unavailable, she pulled him down by his shirt collar.

"How about you go get your tiger," she whispered into his ear, "and then ask me again." She released him and called for Sylvia to come in.

\----

Nick did end up taking a cab, after Finnick hadn’t returned his call. He had wanted to return to his apartment before going to the station, for a clean change of civilian clothes and a meal that hadn’t changed paws three times on the way from a cafeteria. But the case was moving, and he had no intention of missing it.

Tipping the cabbie and hauling his crutches out of the backseat, the fox maneuvered himself into an upright position and hip-checked the door shut. The cab rattled and pulled off down the main Savannah Central thoroughfare and Nick began schlepping himself toward the front entrance.

The weather here was as bright and sunny as it usually was, and the city continued to bustle around him. Nobody seemed concerned with murderous tigers at large, or gun-toting predators in their midst. It was, as they said, a nice day.

Doors slid apart as he approached. Inside the ZPD was a different story--officers were walking fast, heads down or in quiet conversation with one another. Even Clawhauser was absorbed in a phone call. To a laymammal, the scene might have telegraphed normalcy, or cool professionalism, but Nick knew the signs.

Bogo was getting ready to go to war.

Clicking his teeth, Nick angled off to the left, heading for the showers. He was eager to get back to work, but there was a fresh uniform in his locker, and another day in the clothes he’d just finished a foot chase in was not appealing.

The showers were empty. Not surprising--it was early afternoon now, with no shift changes due for a few more hours. Nick treated himself to one of the larger towels and hobbled over to his locker, tipping his crutches against the bench as he sloughed off yesterday’s outfit.

The water was lukewarm after the morning shift’s showers, but Nick didn’t care. He stood quietly for a minute, letting the water soak his fur down to the skin before lathering up. Then he scrubbed hard, to the point of pain--maybe more than necessary, but these were shedding months for him, and his undercoat had needed purging.

Eventually satisfied, Nick shut the water off and gave himself a once-over with the towel. He looked in the mirror and snickered sophomorically. Water was not kind on most mammals, and the fox was no exception--he looked like a skinny, spiky lizard. Less than intimidating. That was all right.

It was a minor feat to fix the towel around his narrow waist such that it wouldn’t fall when he moved his paws to the crutches, but his extensive pre-studying for the Junior Ranger scouts still came in handy once in a while. Halfway-decent and upright again, he crutch-walked his way back toward the lockers.

It wasn’t until Nick was at his locker again, pawing at the combination lock, that a voice came from behind him.

“Heard you were here.”

He turned. It was Wolford, and he did not look happy. Less happy than usual, which was already not very happy. The wolf was in Nick’s space, towering over him and flaring his nostrils in an unconscious display of dominance. The fox fought his instinct to shrink, looking straight back at the other.

“Hey,” said Nick.

“Thought you were taking the day,” Wolford snarled.

“I thought about it,” Nick shrugged with practiced nonchalance. “Didn’t want to miss any of the fun.”

The wolf nodded, as if understanding. Then, with surprising quickness, his paw shot out and shoved Nick hard against the lockers. Nick stumbled, throwing his paw back to keep himself upright. He could feel the wolf’s dull claws against his chest.

“In that case,” Wolford said, glaring daggers, “here’s the deal.”

The wolf perked his ears momentarily, glancing up and down the locker room for bystanders, then leaned back in, almost nose-to-nose with the smaller mammal.

“I know what you think you’re doing,” he ground out, deli breath swirling in Nick’s nostrils. “I know you think you’re smarter than everyone here. But you don’t get to decide what this department is. You don’t get to decide how we all do our jobs. Your ZCLU bullshit endangers _me_ , it endangers _you_ , and it’s gonna endanger your cute little partner. If it weren’t for your bullshit stunt yesterday, we would be done with this case. We would be filing paperwork and sipping iced fucking lattes with the whipped cream with chocolate bits crumbled on top.”

“Can wolves eat chocolate?” Nick interjected. “I didn’t think--”

Wolford pulled him forward by his chest ruff to slam him back against the locker. Nick stumbled and caught himself with his bad leg, and a stabbing pain shot all the way up to his pelvis. He held the wolf’s gaze, hoping it didn’t show. It was hard to look tough with mussed wet fur and a bum leg.

“This is your last warning, Wilde,” Wolford continued. “Back the fuck off. Do _not_ get in the department’s way again.”

It seemed like a bad moment for further sniping, and Nick miraculously managed to keep his snout shut. Wolford released him, just as a gaggle of other officers made their way into the locker room.

“I’ll see you up there,” Nick said opaquely. Wolford nodded and turned to go, jostling past the newly-arrived officers as they poured into the room.

Nick waited for the other to leave before gingerly hoisting himself back to the bench, drawing back the towel to examine his leg. The sutures had torn, and fresh blood was seeping through his bandage.

\----

By the time Nick had donned his uniform--freshly pressed, sleeves rolled up smartly--and made it up to the fourth-floor mezzanine where cases were worked, his fur was nearly dry. Wolford’s remarks or not, he was beginning to feel like a police officer again.

A standard-issue ZPD taser hung at his belt. The gun he’d carried the past few days had been taken as he’d been hustled off to the hospital, and there wasn’t time to track it down or requisition a new one. When it came to that, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to.

Wolford’s desk was empty, and nobody had been able to tell Nick where his colleagues were meeting, but Bogo’s voice carried. Nick hobbled down the hall to the conference room that seemed to be the source of the noise. Leaning on one crutch, he pushed the door open.

Wolford, Chief Bogo, and Lieutenant Azzaby were gathered around the table in the center of the room. A portly beaver in a starched white shirt--no badge, wearing a visitor's lanyard--stood beside them. Wolford, Azzaby and the beaver were leaned in over a series of papers while Bogo stood aside, watching the proceedings like a judge. All heads turned as the small red fox entered.

Azzaby, nearest the door, was on his feet in a moment, reaching to hold the door so Nick could make full use of his crutches. Wolford’s face was a mask.

“Officer Wilde,” Bogo said, with mild surprise. “Feeling better, are we?”

Nick winked, tossing his crutches onto the far end of the table and limping the rest of the way over. “Tip top, sir.”

Bogo snorted softly and rolled his eyes. “Brief Wilde, Lieutenant.”

The gazelle nodded and caught Nick’s eye, sliding one of the huge sheets of paper over.

“Officer Wilde, this is Max Oroville from the Reitherman Corporation. He's advising us on the climate wall operation.”

Nick whistled. “That was quick.”

Azzaby nodded. “We pulled the blueprints for the climate wall from the archives,” he explained, in the clipped and unhesitating cadence of someone who’d explained a lot of things in their lifetime. “The city hasn't gotten around to digitizing them, so you're looking at our original copy. Don't sneeze on it.”

Nick looked over the blueprint. It was all a bit too much, to his untrained eyes--lines and numbers and scribbled notes and more lines. He knew better than to feign comprehension, so he looked back at Azzaby expectantly.

“It’s pretty straightforward,” the lieutenant continued, gesturing with a hoof. “There’s one main corridor that runs the length of the wall, at ground level. Every half a mile is a vestibule with access doors on both sides of the wall.”

Nodding, Nick traced a claw crossways. “Each vestibule’s got a Tundratown door and a Sahara door?”

“Right.”

Wolford growled. “So he might be in Sahara Square by now.”

“Unlikely,” Azzaby said, shaking his head. “That side of the wall is open sand dunes for miles. No storm cover, like he had on the Tundra side. We would have spotted him.”

The wolf narrowed his eyes, reaching across Nick’s front to jab at the blueprint. “And if he's not in there--”

“If he’s not in there, the operation's a bust regardless,” Azzaby pressed. “So we're working under the assumption that he is.”

The gazelle moved aside and gestured to the small beaver. “Mister Oroville,” he said, “was just filling us in on the finer points of climate wall access. Please continue.”

The beaver cleared his throat nervously. “The wall is divided into maintenance sections, each covering about a mile of wall” he explained. “They're locked off with separate key codes, for security reasons.”

“So our guy can't just go anywhere in there,” Nick said.

“Uh, that's right,” confirmed the beaver. “When Mister Basu was with us, he only had the code for the section 222.”

“Near Glacier Heights?”

“Right.”

The room paused as Azzaby exhaled quietly, allowing his eyes to close and reopen. Nick, who had found his own natural impetuousness remarkably subdued in the presence of the lieutenant, felt the air change. They had reached a decision point. The gazelle opened his eyes, then glanced at Bogo, who nodded fractionally.

“Okay,” Azzaby said, reaching across the table to swipe the blueprint back from Nick. “I assume you've been through the access corridor, Oroville--where would you hunker down?”

“The main vestibule has the most space,” the beaver hazarded. “He could go up and down the corridor, but the doors to the other sections are locked just like the exterior ones. He'd have a dead end without the key code.”

“What’s this here?” Nick asked, pointing to a small opening alongside the access door.

“Ventilation,” said the beaver. “Runs through the vestibule and down the corridor. Fairly easy to get the grating off, if you need to. We’ve been meaning to replace it with something stronger.”

“Looks rabbit-sized,” Azzaby mused. “Shame we don’t have Hopps. Guess we’re going in blind.”

The gazelle looked at the blueprint for a moment. “Our best bet is to encircle the exits on the Tundra and Sahara sides, from a distance,” he continued. “Be ready to take him if he makes a break for it. Oroville, if you can get us the codes for the next section, we can send a team in from the side. Hopefully they can flush him out into the open.”

“I can get you codes for both adjoining sections, if you need,” said the beaver.

“No need,” said Azzaby. “He’s already trapped. We’d be shooting at each other if we hit him from both sides.”

“Okay, whatever you need,” Oroville conceded. “There is one thing, maybe…”

“Yes?”

“The wall is incredibly thick,” the beaver grimaced. “Our people haven’t been able to get any reliable phone or radio signal while they’re inside.”

The lieutenant nodded impassively, looked at Bogo. “Looks like we’ll be synching our watches for this one, sir.”

“Just like the good old days,” rumbled the buffalo.

The faint buzz of a phone text was heard--Azzaby’s, as he pulled it from his pocket to glance at the screen.

He pocket it again. “Mobile One is prepped, sir.”

“Good,” said Bogo. “Move out, lieutenant.”

\----

The mobile command trailer bounced and rocked wildly as it sped toward its destination, and Nick fought to keep his injured leg from getting the worst of it as he buckled a kevlar vest over his uniform. Bogo sat across from Nick and Wolford, seemingly unperturbed by the harrowing movement. The ZPD’s rapid response time was a point of pride for the department, Nick had learned since graduating the academy--Bogo having placed a premium on coordination and efficiency. Perhaps that was why the chief was so frequently in the field--it wasn’t necessary or expected, but the chief did it anyway.

One couldn’t doubt his results. As Mobile One pulled into position just north of the wall, Lieutenant Azzaby barked from the radio that Mobile Two was in position on the far side. The Tundra and Sahara precincts had supplied vehicles from their fleets as well--all on-scene and ready, within twenty minutes of Bogo’s go order.

Someone popped the door on the command trailer.  Nick felt the long fur on his neck and ears flutter as cold air rushed in, flicking bits of snow across the deck. Nick slipped into a parka--this time fully marked with police insignia--and struggled to his feet.

The injured fox was the last out of the trailer, staggering a little as Wolford made no move to help him down the steps. The air outside was frigid, and wind whipped across them as brutally as ever. Uniformed officers had established a perimeter around the command post, and Bogo was already conferring with a gaggle of TUSK officers. Wolford quickly moved to join them.

About a half-mile away was section 222 of the climate wall, and Sada Basu’s presumptive lair.  They were well east of Glacier Heights, and the path to their target was less steep and avoided the densest parts of the forest. But it was still a steep incline, there were no roads. To that end, their vehicles were heavy-duty halftracks with skis, built specifically for snow off-roading.

One of the TUSK officers, a warthog with sergeant’s stripes, broke away from the huddle and waved Nick over. Bogo was outlining the case as they approached.

“--unclear as to his state of mind. Assume the suspect is still extremely dangerous. You’re free to use live rounds at your discretion. I don’t need any more officers injured.” Heads turned to Nick at that one.

“Once we are en route,” Bogo continued, “Lieutenant Azzaby will signal the wall team. They will breach the suspect’s section at oh-thirteen-hundred. Any questions? Wilde, you sure you’re coming with?”

Nick set his jaw. “Wouldn’t miss it, sir.”

“Then let’s move,” ordered Bogo. “Wolford, Wilde, you’re with me. Sergeant, signal the lieutenant.”

They dispersed toward the halftracks, the warthog sergeant barking updates to Azzaby over the radio. Bogo offered Nick a massive hoof as they clambered into the back of their designated vehicle, and they settled on the benches alongside the heavily-armored TUSK officers.

And heavily-armed, too. The officers were carrying OIZW discretionary rifles--the type that could switch between heavy tranquilizers and high-caliber rounds with the flick of a lever. Nick pawed at his taser with unease. This could all go sideways in the blink of an eye. But that was the job.

“We’re go, sir,” said the sergeant. “Lieutenant Azzaby says the wall team is inside.”

Bogo nodded as the halftrack thundered to life. The sergeant reached out to pull the door shut, and froze, eyes focused out across the snow.

“ _Tiger!_ ” he barked. Nick spun to look out, and sure enough--an orange-and-white tiger was bolting through the snow towards them. It wasn’t their suspect, Nick was sure--a female, if he could guess. But the others were less sure. The uniformed officers at the perimeter leveled tasers at the approaching tigress, and the few TUSK officers still on the ground half-raised their rifles. The interloper raised her paws above her head and slowed. Nick could hear her shouting faintly.

“Hold, Sahara Team,” Bogo barked into his radio. “We have a situation.”

“Six minutes to breach, sir,” crackled Azzaby from the other end.

“Understood,” Bogo growled. “Hold sixty seconds.”

“Yes, sir.”

Two rhinoceri from the perimeter had patted the tigress down and were hustling her toward the halftrack. Bogo stood and made his way to the door to peer down at them.

“What is this?!” he thundered.

“Not sure, sir,” one of the rhinos answered. “She said--”

“SIR!” she shouted throatily. “My name is Anna Basu. You are going to get my husband, yes?”

“Cuff her,” ordered Bogo. “Tigress: talk.”

The tigress offered her paws behind her back freely. “You must not shoot,” she pleaded, voice ragged and unsteady. “Sada, he took--Inside. He has our children. Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long delay for this chapter, but it's the longest one yet. Almost done! Next chapter should wrap this story up.
> 
> Would love to hear what people think!


	13. The Leopard & The Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick closes the case.

Bogo jerked his caught the eye of the two rhino officers. Pointed at the tigress, then jerked his thumb toward the inside of the truck. The rhinos took Anna Basu’s paws behind her back--roughly, Nick thought--and slammed a pair of heavy cuffs around her wrists, shoving her toward the open vehicle.

All of this was too familiar. Nick the Happytown kit had seen it too many times, from the other side of the law: predator mothers begging mercy on behalf of their children. Then, later, his own mother pleading from the stoop of their apartment building, Nick's face up against the glass of a cruiser. He'd deserved nearly half of those times, but she hadn't ever cared. She'd just wanted her son back.

“Possible change of mission parameters,” Bogo rumbled into his radio. “Stand by.”

The chief grabbed a fistful of blouse as the tigress reached the halftrack, hauling her up and in. She staggered at the force but righted herself, pupils dilating in the low light. Her mouth dropped slightly as she caught sight of the TUSK officers. The cloud of condensation around her mouth retreated as she inhaled sharply and turned to Bogo. The buffalo inclined his head meaningfully at the sergeant, who slammed the back doors shut and barked toward the front of the vehicle.

“Wait...you can't, my kittens are--”

She choked and stumbled as the halftrack surged forward with a roar. Bogo caught her by the shoulder.

“Easy,” he rumbled. “I need you to talk to my officers. Wilde!”

It was a long second before Nick realized he was on, and Wolford--his partner, still?--seized the opportunity to step forward instead. The big wolf nearly matched the tigress for height, and what he lacked in mass he made up for in sheer antagonism. A paw went to his side, to rest meaningfully on the handle of his service weapon as he bared yellow teeth in the captive's face.

"Do they have weapons?" Wolford snarled.

"What--" she stammered, flinching under  "they are children, please stop the car, you cannot--"

"You hid this from us? This is what you fucking get," the wolf spat. "I'm sorry your kids ended up with such shit parents."

The tigress's eyes flashed wildly as she seemed to try to gesticulate, straining spasmodically against the cuffs. "Stop!" she roared, leaning into Wolford's snout. The rhino officers behind her hauled her back. One of them reached for his belt, unhooking the leather muzzle strap.

"Hold it," Nick bit out, taking a step into the fray. All four others looked down at the small fox. He bit his tongue, suddenly much too aware of his small stature.

_ But Judy deals with worse every day _ , he reminded himself. He set his jaw.

"Wolford, back off," Nick said, loading his voice with confidence he didn’t feel. "We're not getting anywhere." The wolf snorted contemptuously at the insubordination, but moved out of the way.

The tigress eyed Nick suspiciously as he made a show of unclipping the taser from his belt and setting it on the seat behind him before approaching.

"What trick is this,” she muttered.

“Ma’am, my name is Nick,” he said. “I want to help.”

“Lying fox." Her voice broke, just a bit. " _ Maggir putt _ .”

Nick sighed, and straightened his back to look at her as directly as he could manage.

"Listen," he said evenly. "You've got friends, yeah? Yeah. A best friend? Your husband nearly killed my best friend. Put her in the hospital. She's still there. So I am bringing him in, one way or another. On his feet, or not. That's up to him."

She gave no reply, but he had her attention.

"Now," he continued, looking her straight in the eye, "I didn't take this job to hurt anyone's kids. This is my case. And I will take full responsibility for whatever happens here today. You can sit this out and blame the fox afterward, if you like. Or you can trust me, for _ ten goddamned minutes _ , and help me do something for your cubs."

For a long moment, she just stared at him impassively through reddened eyes and tear-stained fur.

"There are two," she said finally, looking down. "He take them...maybe a week ago. He say he will bring them back in a few days."

"Why?"

"I don't know. He was--" She seemed again to attempt a gesture before recalling her restraints, and slumped. "He had...poisons. In the blood. Make him crazy."

Nick pursed his lips. That warranted following up on, but later.

“How old?” Nick asked instead. The seeds of a plan were beginning to germinate in his mind. “The kids, I mean.”

“Tw...three and five. Naba and Jiniya.”

That would do it.

"Did they want to go with him?"

She shook her head slowly. "No...no...he tell them to go with him, or..."

"Or?" Nick probed gently. "Or he would hurt them?"

"No." She squeezed her eyes shut, and fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. "No. Not them."

_ Oh. _

They were going to nail this fucker to the _ wall _ .

"Okay. Does he have any weapons?"

She blinked. "I don't think so. Maybe a knife. No guns.”

“All right. Okay,” Nick nodded. “I’m going to go talk to my boss now.”

Fox turned to buffalo. "You get all that, sir?" Nick asked, already knowing the answer. Bogo had been listening intently while pretending not to, quietly passing on details to Lieutenant Azzaby's people.

"Nice work, Wilde."

Nick inclined his head in thanks. A beat.

"Sir, I think--"

"Nothing we can do, Wilde." Wolford, likely interested in regaining some authority, eased himself in between his chief and his junior officer. "We're on the clock."

"We can't do  _ nothing _ ," Nick protested. "You want to drop the hammer with two kids in there?"

"Two future junkie lowlifes, Wilde." Wolford snorted, mimed breaking the neck of a tiny animal. "Probably grow up to finish the job their papa started."

Bogo raised his eyebrows at that one.

"Can it, Wolford," rumbled the buffalo. "Wilde, I don't like it either, but there's nothing we can do."

Nick gulped, willing back the fear that was surging through him again. This was it.

"Yes sir. There is."

Wolford started to make a noise, but Bogo raised a keratinous finger straight in front of his face. The chief looked at Nick, inviting explanation.

"The vent, sir. The beaver said it was a way in. We get in there, get the kids out. They're small."

"We're not," Bogo said pointedly. "None of us is small enough to fit through there."

"I can," Nick said.

"You can't  _ walk _ ."

"I won't need to. I can do this."

Bogo stared. Azzaby crackled again from the radio.

_ "Four minutes to breach." _

"I don't think we have time to discuss this," snapped Wolford.

Bogo kept staring at Nick for a moment. Then gears seemed to click into place.

"You're right, we don't," he growled. "Wilde, you're up."

"I'm...really?"

“Chief, this is garbage--”

“ _ SHUT IT, WOLFORD. _ ” the Chief roared, so suddenly that even the rhinos holding Anna Basu flinched back. He snorted heavily, turning to a wiry snow leopard in TUSK gear and waving her over.

She padded over, drawing herself up to attention even as the floor pitched and juddered under their feet. "Sir?"

"Change of plans," Bogo said, mostly calm again. "Soon as we deploy, Wilde needs to get into the access vent. Right of the door.”

Her eyes widened slightly, but she saluted.

“Yes, sir. Come on, Wilde.”

She took Nick’s arm and guided him to a seat near the door. Nick limped along with her and sat. The leopard knelt in front of him, eyes steady.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m gonna get you to the opening and get you inside. You good for this, fox?”

Nick was not a courageous animal. Not prone to feats of heroism except when the situation (or, more likely, his partner) forced his hand. He did not walk willingly, with premeditation, into danger. Except now--this had been his idea. His paws were shaking, and he was very much not good.

“I can’t run. But I’m ready when you are,” he said, hoping the leopard couldn’t read the fear in his eyes.

“We’ll get it done,” she said, punching his arm lightly.

On cue, the halftrack bucked forward and slid to a halt. Radios blazed to life as Azzaby’s team took up positions. Bogo was barking orders as boots hit the deck and rifles came unslung. The back doors of the vehicle flew open, flooding Nick’s vision with white.

As he squinted against the light, he felt a large forearm hoist him off his feet and haul him outside. He blinked away the snowblind and saw, straight ahead, the climate wall. Complete with sturdy maintenance door and small vent, as promised. The sergeant was already speeding toward them, the small fox bouncing and jolting ignominiously in her grip--

And then they were there. The sergeant sloughed him off her arm and let him lean against the wall as she eyed up the vent. It was screwed on with heavy bolts, but the opening was covered with nothing but a thin wire mesh. She quickly yanked a utility knife from her belt and set to work on it.

“Might want to take off your kevlar,” the leopard advised as she seesawed her knife around the edges of the wire mesh.

Nick took a deep breath and obeyed, unbuckling the straps around his shoulders and waist. He glanced back the way they’d come. Officers were pouring out of the vehicles, fanning out in a wide crescent to cover the door.

The sergeant holstered her knife and ripped the mesh the rest of the way off with her claws just as Nick’s kevlar thudded into the snowdrift. The fox was ready, grabbing the lip and pulling as the other officer boosted him from below.

“You’ve got three minutes,” muttered the leopard. “Good luck.”

And then he was inside.

The vent shaft was pitch black, hot, and incredibly loud. The thrum of the air conditioner was likely, at least, to mask the sound of him rattling around in the ventilation. As long as he was careful.

The fox wiggled experimentally and found that he had just enough room to crawl freely, if not to turn around. Clicking his teeth, he set off down the narrow tunnel, taking care not to put too much pressure on his injured leg.

As he pushed further in, eyes adjusting to the low light, Nick began to piece together a picture of what lay ahead. The vent continued forward for a few dozen feet, beyond which even his night vision wasn’t much use. At two points in between, the metal vent interior seemed to be illuminated from the left, presumably by outlets into the room within. Nick licked his lips and continued toward the first vent. He could see it was sealed with another wire mesh, and his paw instinctively went to his belt, found the utility knife nested there. Good.

Drawing close to the wire mesh, he could begin to see into the room beyond. It was, naturally, a lot like the blueprints had suggested, only a lot dirtier. Metal support beams were streaked with rust, and a colloidal dispersement of dust--shaken free by the juddering of heavy machinery--floated languidly in the light. Nick tried not to sneeze. On the far side of the room, shoved into a broken storage locker, he could see the canvas carry bag stuffed with Basu’s ill-gotten provisions. Littering the floor, ripped-open bags of salted crickets. In the shadows, kicked under the lip of the storage locker, Nick could just make out what looked like a pair of discarded hypos, the nature of which were best left to ZPD forensics.

And further away, in the far corner, two golden-white tiger cubs.

The younger of the two was fast asleep, curled around an empty cream carton. Yesterday's mystery of the missing dairy, at least, was solved. The older--Jiniya, if Nick had understood--was awake, sitting in a fetal position and staring ahead, one paw on her little brother's. Nick had nearly opened his mouth to call to her when a deafening snort sounded from directly below him.

The fox started, banging his skull involuntarily against the vent ceiling. He twisted himself back, retreating as best he could from the vent opening, and waited. There was another choked snort, followed by some incoherent mumbling, which lapsed after a moment into slow breathing.

_ Ah. _ Basu was indeed here, directly underneath and out of sight. Just as well Nick hadn't attempted an entry.

Pausing another few seconds to make sure Basu was still sleeping, Nick crept further along the tunnel. Another tortured snore emanated from the first opening as the fox made his way past. He shuddered, wondering if they might have saved lives and simply left the tiger to succumb to drugs and sleep apnea. But it was a passing thought, made all the more so as he drew up to the second vent and caught a closer sight of the kid.

Jiniya was sitting where she had been, but her eyes and ears were searching the room cautiously. Nick felt the bruise on his head throb--evidently it hadn't gone as unnoticed as he'd thought. 

Whatever residual fear Nick was still carrying faded entirely, for reasons that were unclear to him. All he knew was that there were children in danger here, and he was the only mammal able to do something about it.

" _ Psst _ ."

The tiger cub looked up and around. Her eyes flicked toward the vent opening and bulged, her mouth opening. He raised a claw to his lips, and she closed her mouth. Nodded. Nick beckoned her over. Carefully, her eyes darting toward her sleeping father, she got to her feet and padded over silently.

"Jiniya?" he stage-whispered, trying to make himself heard above the thrum of the machinery. "I'm Nick. Your mom is outside. It's not safe here."

"I know," she answered, glancing meaningfully at the sleeping tiger, then back at Nick. "You're the police."

Nick swallowed. "Yes."

She frowned. "Police aren't safe."

"Sometimes," he agreed. “More are coming. That won’t be safe. I need to get you and your brother out before they get here. Can you help me do that?”

“Are they going to hurt my dad?”

“I hope not. Not if he’s quiet and does what they ask.”

“He won’t,” she said. “He likes to hurt people.”

Nick was unnerved by her calmness, but this was all taking far too  _ long _ .

“We don’t have much time,” he decided. “If I can get this open, can you and your brother get in?”

“Safe?”

Nick nodded. “I promise.”

The little tiger crept back to her sleeping baby brother and knelt by him. Nick hauled his knife out and set to work on the mesh. He’d probably had less practice than the sergeant, and in the tight quarters he had difficulty getting leverage, but the mesh gave way easily and without much noise. Nick made sure to slice all the way around before pulling the mesh covering aside.

Jinya and the other cub had exchanged whispers, and she led the wide-eyed toddler to Nick.

He was about to reach out his paws when a sharp explosive bang echoed from down one of the crosswise hallways across the room. Both cubs jumped in fright, and Nick caught a rumbling growl from Basu’s direction.

_ Hide _ , Jinya mouthed urgently, and Nick shrank back into the shadows of the now-open vent, mind racing.

The cast light from the vent opening went momentarily dark as the huge tiger crossed in front of it. Nick’s ears caught soft footsteps heading past, across the room...down the hallway to investigate. It was time for his Hail Marian. Nick peeked back out, saw the children clutching each other. He reached out a paw.

“We have to go  _ now _ ,” he hissed. Jinya seemed to come to her senses, and pushed the smaller cub forward.

“Okay, buddy,” Nick said softly. “I’m gonna lift you up, and you’re going to go past me to the right, and just keep going until you get outside, okay? Your mom is gonna be out there.”

The younger cub stared at him, rooted to the spot.

“Naba,  _ go _ ,” Jiniya encouraged. “It’s okay.”

“Maybe your sister can give you a boost?” Nick suggested, holding out his arms. “It'll be okay.”

The sister, taking the hint, lifted the little cub up and into the fox’s arms. Nick tried not to wheeze as he lifted the kid up. Even at three, the tiger was nearly Judy’s size, and a lot heavier. Silently thanking the rabbit for forcing him to the station gym so many times, Nick managed to haul him up.

"Go on," Nick encouraged gently. "I'm going to pull up your sister now."

Naba scampered off down the vent shaft the way Nick had come in. Good. Nick reached for Jiniya--

"Freeze, ZPD!" came a shout from the hallway.

"Now, _now_ ," Nick urged. "Grab my paw."

Glancing back, she gripped his paw tightly. Bracing his other against the inside of the vent, he yanked her up as far and as fast as he could. The cub strained upward to grab the lip of the vent.

Abruptly, a series of crashing footfalls saw Sada Basu reemerge into the room, wild-eyed and frantic. Staring straight ahead. At the fox pulling his daughter out of the room. The big tiger snarled viciously.

It took every bit of strength Nick had in reserve, and some he didn't, to pull the cub any higher, but it was just enough. Jiniya grabbed the vent lip tightly with her free paw. Nick freed her other, reaching over to seize the back of her shirt. One more pull, and she clambered her way past him.

Basu was charging straight at the opening now. Nick tried to run for it, twisting around and feeling all four of his claws squeaking against the metal as they scrabbled for purchase. But it was too little, too late--Nick felt an enormous paw clamp down on his tail.

“ _ Run, _ ” was all he could manage to croak out before a lightning pain shot up his spine, and then the vent shaft--and Jiniya’s horrified face looking back at him--tumbling out of sight as Basu flung him across the room.

Nick hit the wall face-first and tasted iron. His feet were already moving under him as he slid to the floor, scrambling to move out of the way. Not even bothering to chance a look, the fox flung himself away just as the huge tiger rammed into the wall where Nick had landed.

_ Where the hell are the breach teams? _

Seconds away, most likely. But those were seconds Nick didn’t have. His eyes fell upon the door on the far side of the room. It was big and heavy-looking, designed with large mammals like Basu in mind. A metal push-bar crossed the door just above Nick’s head-height, and a glowing green “exit” sign swam blurrily above it in Nick’s concussed vision.

A flicker of shadow prompted Nick to duck, just in time, as razor claws swiped the air just above his head. The fox darted forward into a run. More pain as his injured footpaw slapped against the metal flooring. He forced his full weight onto it with each step, feeling the sutures bursting but needing the momentum. Basu snarled again from far behind as Nick crossed the midpoint. This was going to  _ work _ . He leaned hard into his sprint and leapt at the last minute, slamming his body against the door’s push bar.

The door was every bit as heavy as it looked, but it swung nearly halfway open as the small animal cannonballed into it. That was all he needed--grabbing at the doorframe, he threw himself outward as the door slammed behind him.

Nick felt the searing heat before he landed, face-first in the Sahara sand. He didn’t bother to spit it out, pushing himself back up. His leg was out of commission, seeping blood through his pants.

A hundred feet ahead, a crescent of a dozen figures emerged from the sun glare, shimmering indistinctly behind the heat distortion with rifles raised. Nick set off in a shambling, three-legged run.

_ “That’s Wilde,” _ someone called out.

_ “Keep moving, Wilde, we’ll cover, _ ” came another voice, directly ahead. One of the taller figures, capped with a pair of demonic helical horns, moved forward. The rest followed, closing the gap. Rifles trained above Nick’s head as he hobbled toward them.

The inevitable crash and feline roar came later than Nick had expected and sooner than he would have liked. Someone was yelling at Basu to freeze, and someone else was yelling at Nick to move. The fear was back now, inexplicably, too late to do him any good. He could feel himself slowing down, his bones and injuries finally cashing all the checks he’d written in the past five minutes.

A series of soft pops sounded from the rifles. Tranquilizers. There was indistinct shouting, followed by another volley.

_ “Wilde, move!” _

Nick’s body was failing him. He put another foreleg in the sand and it buckled, sending him sprawling to the side. The bengal tiger bearing down on him looked familiar--massive, malicious, smattered with the green plumes of tranquilizer darts, two more of which appeared even as Nick watched.

The fox waited for the heavy bark of the kill rounds, but it wasn’t coming. Basu reared up above him, twitched--

Twitched again, and toppled backward.

The TUSK team was already charging forward. The blinding light went dark as a large figure knelt over him and lifted him in gentle paws, ferrying him away from the climate wall, past the advancing officers and toward one of the vehicles.

The officer--a jaguar, probably a combat medic, he saw--lifted him into the truck and lay him down on one of the benches.

“Don’t move,” the jaguar ordered. “Your leg’s bleeding. Did he get you?”

“Threw me at th’ wall,” Nick slurred. “Think I’m okay.”

The jaguar nodded, withdrawing a pair of scissors and cutting the bloodied bandages away from Nick’s footpaw, dabbing at the cut with something that burned.

“Don’t move.”

“S’ry.”

The jaguar finished his work and produced a roll of gauze and a hypo from somewhere, wrapping Nick’s leg back up. The leg secure, he took Nick’s paw in his to administer a shot.

“Hold still. Doctor’s not going to be happy to see you again so soon, Wilde.”

“When’s anyone ever happy t’see me,” Nick wondered.

But the jaguar wasn’t listening anymore, ears pricked toward the open door of the vehicle. Someone was calling for a medic.

“Be right back,” he said to Nick. “Don’t move.” With a whisper, he was out the door.

Nick moved anyway, straining over the complaints of his ribs to catch a glimpse outside. Azzaby was beckoning Nick’s jaguar over to Sada Basu. The tiger was shaking and spasming violently, flecks of foam collected around his muzzle. Officers trying to restrain him drew back at Azzaby’s signal as the medic arrived.

Abandoning his efforts, Nick let his body flop back onto the bench. He was so, so tired. The fox let his eyes flutter closed. Someone else could handle things for ten minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update! This was supposed to be the last chapter, but I got to nearly 4,000 words, which I think is the longest chapter so far, and I'm not even halfway through my chapter outline. This is pretty much the climactic scene, so the (actual) last chapter is just gonna be dénouement. Which should be easier to write. Probably.
> 
> I know it's a long wait for each update (I got my BFA since the last chapter!) so I appreciate everyone who's liked the story enough to stick around. I've gotten a bunch of criticism in the past month or so, too, which I definitely appreciate. Even the mean stuff. I have a load of thoughts on what went right and wrong with this story that I'm going to share w/the last chapter.
> 
> But first I'm driving to SDCC so peace out


	14. The Fox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick recovers, and deals with some unfinished business.

It was noon in Savannah Central. The sun shone gently through the windows of the ZPD headquarters and onto the floor of the main room, where the city press had assembled and waited restlessly.

For several minutes, the press room lectern was empty, save for a dozen-and-change microphones from the city's leading news organizations. The massive screen in the back of the apparatus, usually used for displaying photos of suspects, victims, or hero officers, showed only a large ZPD badge set against a flat blue. The messaging was clear--the force was closing ranks today, standing together as an institution behind the remarks that were to come.

Nick turned his attention from the television, arching off the hospital bed to adjust his shirt. It was an itchy old Cud Zeppelin number he should have thrown out a decade ago, so it figured that was what Finnick grabbed when he'd brought Nick a change of clothes.

The half dozen White Fangs the fennec had smuggled in amongst them, however, were very welcome. Nick twisted, reaching across his IV to grab a bottle, and pulled the cap off with his front teeth. He took a long swig, ignoring the harshness on his sand-blasted throat, and returned his attention to the television.

Bogo was taking the stand now. The occasional camera clicks and flashes had increased to a fever pitch, but the huge buffalo didn't blink as he took up position behind the microphones. He paused for a few seconds, waiting for the hubbub to die down before speaking.

"Good afternoon," he began. "You are all likely aware of recent events in which Officer Judy Hopps was critically injured responding to a robbery in Happytown. In the past week, apprehending the individuals responsible has been a priority for this department, and we have made several arrests and undertaken several actions to that end."

Nick chuckled, nearly snorting beer out his nose at Bogo's liberal application of cop-speak.

"Yesterday morning," the chief continued, "the ZPD launched an operation to secure the arrest of our primary suspect, Sada Basu, who was in hiding within a section of the climate wall. During the course of the operation it was ascertained that the suspect was holding two children as hostages. Those cubs are now safe. Unfortunately, in the course of the operation, the suspect died."

The press roared to life, shouting over each other as cameras flashed again.

"I want to stress," Bogo continued over them, "that every precaution was taken to safely apprehend Mr. Basu. In fact, we were able to ensure the safety of the cubs thanks to quick action and tremendous courage by one of our officers, who was injured in the--"

"Chief Bogo," interrupted a particularly loud voice from off camera, "was he shot? What was the cause of death?"

"Our officers used tranquilizer rounds only," Bogo explained. "The cause of death was cardiac arrest."

"From the tranquilizers?"

"Preliminary analysis from the city coroner found evidence of controlled substances in the suspect's system. That's all I can say at this time."

"What drugs? Was the tiger on night howlers?" came another voice.

"We're not prepared to make a determination at this time," Bogo reiterated. "Now--"

Nick sighed and reached for the remote to switch the TV off. He'd seen the conference before--the news stations had been running it all day--and there was little else worth hearing. Bogo had deftly handled the Gulo Karnovsky shooting without offering many details, though those would come out in time. The rest of the half-hour was dedicated to selections of Basu's personal history, as well as an update on Judy's much-improved condition.

A department laptop sat on his right, perched on a bunched-up pile of sheets. Nick was technically on medical leave, imposed upon him by Bogo, but he'd continued to idly peruse his reports on the Basu case, checking for inaccuracies and errors. He'd annoyed Judy, via text messages, into going silent over an hour ago, so the reports were all the entertainment he had now.

His leg hurt. It was stitched up again, with a fresh bandage applied, and the beer was helping. But it would be some time before he could walk comfortably again. He had a few slight cracked ribs and a broken nose from his one-sided fight with Basu. All things considered, he'd gotten off easy. He wasn't dead. His partner wasn't dead. Basu's kids were safe.

There would be consequences for Basu's death, of course, and for Karnovsky's injuries. Nick would face them squarely and honestly, in whatever capacity was required. Who knew? The public might even buy an honest fox.

The door cracked open, and a nurse--the striped fox from the day before--poked her head in.

“Mister Wilde? I’ve got your wheelchair. Your colleague’s just getting you signed out downstairs.”

Nick nodded and flipped the laptop closed. The ZPD, perhaps out of contrition, had actually sent someone to pick him up this time. He hoped it wasn’t Wolford. The big wolf had more than enough reason to be resentful, after his domineering attempt to shut Nick down had been countermanded by Bogo.

Gingerly, he rotated his footpaws off the bed and slid himself gingerly to the floor, testing his balance as he stood up.

"See," he grumbled, turning to the nurse. "I don't need a wheelchair."

He turned too fast and spun himself off balance, stumbling onto his bad foot and yelping before she caught his arm to steady him.

"Sure, you don't," she said.

"I swear," Nick swore, "I'm just drunk."

She grimaced. "Now you're  _ really _ going in the wheelchair."

They packed his things--she was kind enough to let him stow the his three unopened beers back in his bag--and set off back to the elevator. Nick, more inebriated than he'd perhaps realized, sat tall in his wheelchair and lifted his beer aloft like a chalice.

"Your king is passing," he babbled to the smattering of mammals in the hallway. "Ready the heralds as I alight from my conveyance."

The nurse snatched the drink from his hand and threw it into a trash can as they entered the elevator.

"You're going to get me in  _ trouble _ ," she hissed, hitting the lobby button.

Nick clasped his paws. "My apologies, Lady Stripes."

She laughed at that one.

"Speaking of trouble," Nick added, "where's my partner? Officer Hopps. Is she gonna be out soon?"

"Actually--"

The elevator dinged for the ground floor, and the doors slid open.

"Nick!"

Judy Hopps’s face lit up as she caught sight of him. She was in street clothes, clutching a sheaf of paperwork. Looked like she'd been waiting in front of the elevators too, so…

“Hey, Carrots!” He waved. “Funny seeing you down here.”

She limped up to him, standing on tip toes and shoving papers behind his head to give him a quick hug.

“I can take him from here,” Judy offered, smiling at the nurse.

“Are you sure?”

“No problem,” Judy insisted, not entirely convincingly. Her head barely cleared the back of the wheelchair. But the nurse surrendered it without objection.

“Feel better, officer,” she said. “And, um. Thanks again.”

They both watched as the vixen trotted off down a hallway to attend to other duties.

“Aw,” Judy said, getting the chair underway. “She thinks you're cute. Too bad.”

“Everyone thinks that, Carrots,” Nick scoffed. “She can get in line.”

“ _ Wow _ .” Judy waggled his wheelchair back and forth. “The picture of modesty and professionalism.”

“Whatever. Stop that,” Nick said. “I was supposed to be the one swooping in to pick  _ you  _ up. Heroically. Except, apparently, they let you out already, which nobody bothered to tell me.”

“I think they did, you just weren't listening.” The rabbit hopped on her good foot to tilt the wheelchair back and ease it over the threshold of the door. Nick closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warm summer air wash over him. This was a day no dozen throbbing injuries could ruin.

The wheelchair had stopped at the curb. His partner was saying something.

“What?” Nick said. “Sorry, I was...what?”

Just stepped around the side of the wheelchair and tugged at his paw.

“I said get up. Come on, this is our Zuber. Your address is still the same, right?”

He allowed her to help him out of the chair as a nondescript sedan pulled up. Judy opened the front passenger door and leaned in to speak to the driver.

“Judy Hobbes?”

“Uh...yep! Just a second!”

Nick had been about to climb gingerly into the back when Judy interposed herself between him and the seat.

“Carrots, what--”

“I saw the press conference,” she said, beaming quietly up at the fox. “'Quick action and tremendous courage,’ huh?”

Nick waved a paw dismissively. “I mean, Bogo could have been talking about anyb--”

There were times when he forgot how fast and how strong the little rabbit really was. Before he knew what was happening, she'd grabbed his gesticulating paw and pushed it aside, stepped forward and kissed him hard on the mouth. He stiffened with surprise, momentarily, before relaxing into it, reaching out to grab the car door so they wouldn't topple over backwards. Her mouth was tiny against the end of his snout--but very soft, and insistent, and very sincere.

“Uh, wow, Carrots,” he said as she pulled away. “Maybe let me buy you dinner first?”

“Okay,” she said brightly. “When and where?”

Someone honked--either scandalized or impatient, it was hard to tell--and Nick laughed.

“Somewhere not here. C’mon, we're blocking traffic.”

\----

Nick arrived back at the ZPD two days later, with a slight limp and a dozen aches. He was in plainclothes and high spirits.

“Nicky!” called Clawhauser happily. “How ya feeling, big guy?”

“Like I fell off the top of the Palm Hotel.” Nick replied, grinning widely. “Can I see the boss man?”

The big cheetah radioed up, and relayed an affirmative. Nick mock-saluted his thanks and wobbled his way over to an elevator. He keyed for the second floor, half-expecting Wolford’s goons to muscle in on him again. But the door slid closed quietly, and the elevator whirred quietly upward. Nick would see them when he saw them.

The door to Bogo’s office was cracked. Nick pushed his head in.

“Busy, sir?”

“Extremely.”

“Great.” Nick strode in anyway.  His usual leap onto the chair opposite Bogo’s desk became an inelegant clamber, but he attempted to maintain his poise anyway.

“Wilde,” Bogo observed, once Nick had managed to situate himself. “You’re supposed to be on medical leave.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“If I’d known you were coming, I would have put out a stool.”

Nick put his paws out beseechingly. “Can’t a guy come visit his best buffalo pal on his day off?”

“Maybe if you never call me that ever again,” said the buffalo, shuffling his papers. “How’s the leg?”

“Doctor says it’ll be fine in a couple of weeks. If I can avoid fighting any more tigers.”

“You’d better start refilling the coffee machine, then,” Bogo advised. “Fangmeyer’s on a tear.”

Nick grinned. “I’ll take that under advisement, sir. How’s the case?”

Bogo raised his eyebrows meaningfully. “You got your partner back. And a vacation. What more do you want?”

“It’s my case,” Nick insisted, returning the look. “I want to know, sir.”

“So the fox cares after all,” the chief said dryly. “Fine. We’re not charging Karnovsky.”

“Why not?”

“First, we can’t pin any of the big stuff on him, but he doesn’t know that. Second...we did lab work on the drugs in Basu’s system. Laced with low-strength Night Howler toxin.”

“No kidding. Think it’s Doug again?”

“Hell if I know. But maybe we can lean on Karnovsky a little, find a supplier.”

Nick nodded. “What about Basu’s family?”

“The cubs are in protective custody,” Bogo muttered. “The mother...we have her for another twelve hours. After that, we’ll have to charge her with something or let her go.”

“And?”

“What do the kids want?”

Bogo sighed. “The kids want their mother back.”

Nick shrugged. “Don’t charge her.”

“Wolford says you’re too soft.”

“Wolford thinks everybody’s too soft,” Nick said. “I take it he's given you _his_ opinion?”

“He doesn’t get to have an opinion,” Bogo rumbled. “He’s off the case and on desk duty, after that last little display. Until I say otherwise.”

Nick nodded.

“Surprised you don’t want to at least slap her with a misdemeanor, though, Wilde.”

“You don’t have to take my suggestion,” Nick said, bristling.

“Still, though, after Hopps?”

“They  _ lost their dad, Chief. _ ” Nick said, much louder than he meant to. “Just...let them have their mom.”

A beat. Nick realized he was standing on the chair, sank back down on his haunches.

“I’m...sorry, sir. That was out of turn.”

Bogo gazed at him impassively. “Didn’t know you had that kind of fire in you, fox.”

“Hit a little close to home, sir.”

“Don’t worry about it. Go home and rest. Say hi to Hopps for me.”

“Hopps doesn’t live in my house, you know.”

“Go away.”

\----

It was getting dark, and a light rain was beginning to patter its way down onto the Savannah Central sidewalk. Nick didn’t mind. His bandages were off, at last, and the cool air against his feet was a little blissful. He shuffled the orchids in his grasp--from Otterton, because he hadn't known where else to go--to make sure they were secure in the plastic sleeve and out of the rain. This was a night for Slick Nick, not Screwup Nick.

He transferred the orchids to one paw and reached up to adjust his tie. He'd debated including it. It _was_ a little loud under the dark blazer. But for the target of this particular hustle, trying too hard was vastly preferable to not trying enough. He pawed at the fur on his head, trying to get it to lie flat. This wasn't normally a problem.

The apartment building came into view, looming out of the streetlights. Climbing the stairs, the fox clutched the flowers closer and ignored the twinge in his paw. He gazed out into the drizzle as he leaned under the overhang and put a paw on the intercom, dialing the unit number from muscle memory. He'd been here plenty of times before.

The speaker clicked. "Hello?"

"Hey," he said. "It's Nick."

"Hi! Hey! Just a sec."

The line went dead, a buzzer sounded, and his sensitive ears could just make out the electronic lock clicking open.

He pushed inside. It was as dingy and cramped as ever. Nick did his best to keep his besuited elbows and tail from brushing the greasy walls as he made his way upstairs. If he'd been unsure as to whether he was in the right place, the muffled shouting from her neighbors next door would have put him at ease. It did frustrate some of the more amorous of his hopes for the evening, but that was all right. He came to her door, straightened his tie one more time, and knocked.

"Just a minute!"

There was pause, then a patter of feet. The doorknob rattled around a bit, and he could hear the lock being undone. He had just enough time to arrange his face into a lidded smirk before door opened, and Judy Hopps was smiling broadly up at him.

"Hi!"

She was in a cornflower blue halter dress, elegant but unassuming. Beautiful, he thought, even with one arm still wrapped in a sling. He was probably supposed to be saying something right now.

"Oh, Nick! Did you really--"

He held out the orchids to her, and she grabbed them excitedly with her good paw, chattering away.

"Aw, Nick, these are beautiful! Where'd you get 'em? They look really fresh. Was it Otterton? I have to go see him sometime..."

He chuckled at the sight of her, dressed to the nines, with her face half-stuck into a boquet sleeve. And it was at that moment, he thought, that something came down inside of him. A wall he'd put up without realizing it was starting to crumble, and all the fear and worry that he'd buried for weeks found its way to the surface.

His paws started shaking.

"...you didn't have to do this, Nick, seriously, I--Nick?"

Judy's smile turned to worry as she looked up at his face, and it occurred to him that he might be crying. She hurriedly set the orchids down on her end table and rushed forward to grasp his paw.

"Nick, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he lied. Tears were streaming uncontrollably now.

"Pellets. Do you wanna come sit down?"

He let her draw him inside, shaking quietly as she closed the door behind them and led him to her bed. It sagged as he sat down on it, bringing him down to the rabbit's eye level as she stood in front of him. His tail curled involuntarily around his ankles.

"Nick, what's going on?" She was staring right into him with those big dumb violet eyes, all softness and concern and kindness. He looked at the floor instead.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, taking her tiny paw in his big claws and talking down to it. "I didn't plan this. I was gonna be really cool tonight."

"You're the coolest mammal I know, Nick Wilde."

He managed to look her in the eye again. "I was so scared, Judy. You're the best friend I've ever had. I thought I was gonna..."

"Oh, _Nick_." Her own eyes were welling up, now. She rushed forward to hug him, throwing one arm around his neck and burying her face in his ruff. He put his paws around her and drew her to him gently, letting his tail encircle them both.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he croaked. All of the walls were down now, and more tears streaked down his cheek fur and onto the bunny's head. They held each other, as best they could, for several minutes.

Eventually they drew apart, by mutual unspoken agreement. Judy was smiling gamely.

"You dummy," she said. "That was _weeks ago_."

He laughed wetly. "That's the thing with foxes. We're never sappy at the right moments."

"No." She reached out the back of her paw to wipe a tear from his face. "This is a good moment."

She leaned forward, then, and delivered a small kiss to the tip of his nose. He stared at her dumbly for a moment.

"Whatcha thinking, fox?"

"Can't say it yet. We haven't even been on a date."

She cocked her head for a second, then got it. Blushed.

"Aw, Nick." She ran a paw over her ears, paused, and looked at him with renewed concern.

"Hey," she said. "We don't have to go out. If you need some time. I have...salads. And movies. You know, on my laptop."

He gave her a red-eyed grin. "Nice as that sounds, Carrots, I _am_ wearing a tie. And I did promise you the best carrot souffle in the city. We're making this happen."

Her face lit up again, and she grasped his paw and pulled him to his feet.

"You _did_ promise me that!" she said. "Wait."

The bunny scampered over to the door, plucked out one of the orchids, and bit off half the stem with her front teeth. Nick frowned.

"What are you--"

She twirled the flower appraisingly in her paw, then tucked it behind her ear.

"There," she said. " _Now_ we can go."

She punched him, minutes later, as they made their way down the sidewalk to his car. He'd borrowed the old unmarked Crown Vicuna from the motor pool again--no sense paying for a rental. And Zuber drivers were...less than reliably tolerant of deviant couplings. He wasn't entirely sure he'd broken any ZPD regulations which, to the fox's mind, was as good as doing things by the book.

"You didn't tell me it was _raining_!" she groused, clutching her arm around her bare shoulders.

"I didn't," he admitted, shrugging off his blazer. "That was so I could do this." He reached over to drape the jacket gently around her shoulders. She glared at him, but pulled the jacket tighter around herself.

"You're a menace," said the bunny.

"You love it."

"I _hate_ you."

She body-checked him, then kept pressing, snuggling up under his arm as they came to a stop in front of the car.

"Carrots."

"Yeah?"

"You're standing on my tail again."

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! I want to say thanks again to everybody who stuck with this the whole way. I've read more than a few stories that ended up abandoned, so I know it takes some faith to keep checking for updates even when they're months apart. Since I started this story, I've moved TWICE, and graduated from college. Most of the year it took to write was spent juggling it with pretty intensive coursework and a full-time job in my field, so unfortunately this story wound up at the bottom of the priority list a whole bunch of times. I really wanted to finish it, though, if only to prove to myself that I could.
> 
> When I started this story--the first piece of fiction I've written since I was maybe 11--I was intending to do something quick, four or five chapters, done in a couple of months. I'm not sure how it wound up ballooning to 35k words and 14 chapters (the longest thing I've ever written, college papers included), but here we are.
> 
> Looking back, I think there's a lot of stuff that didn't work out as intended with this story. The biggest problem was that setting it aside for months between chapters meant it was a real struggle to pick up where I left off, remember where I was trying to steer things, what the purpose of certain characters or scenes was supposed to be. I think the tone and the messaging ended up being a little muddled as a result--something that was originally going to be about Nick and Judy's relationship that twisted into something else about police violence, that didn't deal with THAT issue as plausibly as I'd intended...it's a bit of a mess. Too many one-off original characters that walk in and out in a single chapter. I also realized that I love writing Nick and Judy together, and coming up with a plot in which they're separated from each other for almost the entire thing was probably the dumbest thing I could have done. I also proofread NOTHING (for the aforementioned time reasons) so I'm sure there's more than a few dumbass mistakes floating around in there.
> 
> Someone called me out on using dashes as a crutch, which was totally true. I tried to dial back in the last couple of chapters, and learn to just begin and end sentences properly.
> 
> But I feel like there's successes here, too. I love writing dialogue between characters, and I think that's been something that worked really well in this story. The descriptive/narrative stuff didn't come as easily, but looking back at where I started I can at least say I've gotten a little better at it. And most of the comments I've gotten (including from some people whose writing I really admire) have been really positive. So, on balance, I'm really glad I did this.
> 
> Lastly--I want to acknowledge Falke, who I assume won't read this, but whose well-researched and incredibly tightly written work has been a huge inspiration. And also weatheredlaw, who's not doing so much Zootopia stuff anymore but who wrote some of the sweetest and most affective scenes I've read on this site. s/o to yalls.
> 
> What's next? I wrote a couple of short Zootopia stories labeled "Affirmations," and I have a half dozen ideas for other short pieces in that vein, so I'll probably try to get at least some of those turned into stories. I also have 1000 words worth of outline for a fucking Redwall AU, because apparently I don't know what to do with myself.
> 
> Thanks for reading, everybody!


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